


Riches to Rags

by Kiertorata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Bartender Ron, Beer, Bisexual Ron Weasley, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22934692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiertorata/pseuds/Kiertorata
Summary: Draco’s world turns upside down when he loses the Malfoy fortune. Desperate, he goes to the only person he can think of to help him learn how to be poor. Among craft beers, banter and midnight chess, it turns out to be quite the journey.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 197
Collections: Ron/Draco Fest - Better Together





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny has been nagging me for a long time, and I decided to finally put it out of its misery and write it! Thanks to FangQueen for running this fest and being ever so patient, and H and L for the heroic job of looking this over and giving helpful feedback and encouragement! I couldn't have done it without you! (I will add your names after reveals. <3)
> 
> Parts of this were finished after it was beta-read, so if you spot any mistakes, don't hesitate to comment. I will fix anything that needs to be fixed.

Draco glanced around himself with a deepening sense of unease and doom. He had gotten the address from one of his acquaintances at the Ministry who knew one of Weasley’s brothers, but something about the cheerfully domestic neighborhood struck Draco as wholly un-Weasley-like and wrong, making him second-guess his already insane plan. It was one of the new mixed neighborhoods where Wizardkind and selected Muggles lived alongside in supposed harmony – part of the Ministry’s integration programme. Draco had heard they were popular with Muggle-borns and Squibs, but Weasley was neither.

Draco felt like a bald fwooper in this unfamiliar terrain, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Referring to himself as a beggar was distasteful, but that’s what he was now, in the literal sense of the word. If he was stooping as low as to talk to Weasley, of all people... well, it really spoke volumes about his situation.

Draco flicked his wand and the knocker on the door tapped twice. He took a step back to wait. Shuffling around on his feet, he tried to expel any last signs of tension from his body. He needed to appear calm if he expected Weasley to hear him out instead of slamming the door on his face.

After a moment, he could hear the sound of footsteps from inside, their volume increasing.

The door opened with a violent jerk.

‘Who is it?’

A man stood at the door-frame, squinting at Draco. Despite the familiar voice, it took Draco a second to recognize him. Ron Weasley looked different from the days he had still been in the papers because of the war. He had grown a beard, which suited him oddly well, and was wearing worn, Muggle jeans. For a moment, Draco was too stunned to speak.

He must have interrupted Weasley’s dinner, because it seemed like Weasley was still chewing on something as he spoke. In a wave of disgust, Draco was tempted to retort something cutting, like ‘I see you haven’t changed one bit’, but he held his tongue.

‘Good evening, Weasley,’ he said instead. He tried to keep his voice level.

It seemed to take Weasley a moment to recognize him. He squinted his eyes again; the glare of the sunset behind Draco hit his face, and for a moment he looked like a freckled, ginger blob.

‘What the hell, Malfoy, is that you?’ he said.

‘Obviously,’ Draco said, straining not to sneer. ‘Look, I know you must be surprised to see me, but I need your help.’

‘How do you know where I live?’

‘I’ll tell you once you let me inside.’

‘Like hell I will. Tell me what you’re doing here first.’ He pulled out his wand.

Draco hesitated. It wasn’t like him to lay out all his cards so early, but he really was quite desperate. The red-tinted sky looked glorious now, but soon it would get dark and he didn’t have a place to stay.

‘I need somewhere to crash the night. I—don’t have a place to stay.’

It didn’t seem to be what Weasley expected to hear.

‘What?’

‘I’d also appreciate any tips on how to be poor,’ he added, knowing he was stretching it.

‘What?’ Weasley said, louder this time. He was rapidly turning the infamous shade of purple that Draco had had the privilege of being the cause of a few times during their school years. Fond memories, but right now, he didn’t take it as a promising sign.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Weasley said. ‘School’s over, Malfoy, in case you missed the memo. If you can’t think of anything better to do with your time than chase people down and spew insults at them, then I feel sorry for you, but I won’t have anything to do with it. Get yourself a room at Leaky like a normal person would.’

‘I don’t have a home anymore, and nothing to speak of in the vault either. I can’t pay for a room at the Leaky Cauldron,’ Draco said in a quiet, steady voice. He felt the heat climb up his cheeks, and for a moment, he couldn’t look at Weasley.

‘You’re really asking me for help,’ Weasley said, looking at him oddly.

‘I. Don’t. Have. A. Home. Anymore. What part of that is so hard to understand!’ Draco said, losing his temper a little. Repeating everything grated on his sense of dignity, but then again, Weasley had always been a little dense. ‘It’ll hit the news soon enough, although my family lawyer is trying to keep it from the press until… I can’t pay him anymore.’

Saying it aloud made Draco realize again just how miserable he was. He had been trying all day not to focus on the crushing reality of the situation. Letting all the feelings in brought an exhaustion unlike anything he had felt since the war.

He had been running around London all day arguing with various Ministry representatives and trying to figure out if he had any assets left to his name. He had even started a fight with a goblin, which in hindsight had been a terrible idea. Getting dragged out of Gringotts by the collar of his robes hadn’t been the worst that had happened to him, but it had certainly been degrading.

It was tough being poor. He didn’t know how people beared it.

‘I’ve lost everything. I barely have a Galleon to my vault,’ Draco said miserably. ‘Do you think I came begging you for help by choice? Of course not. This is the most humiliating situation I’ve ever been in. You were the only person I could think of.’

‘Me?’ Weasley said, narrowing his eyes. ‘I don’t know what gave you the impression, but we’re not exactly old mates.’

He looked contemplative, critical – as if he was trying to figure out if Draco’s act was a ploy. But overall, his expression had turned less hostile.

‘Who has survived his entire life with almost nothing to his name? You,’ Draco said, seeing his chance. ‘Who has learned not to let taunts from people like me not get to him? You. You’re an expert at being poor, whether you admit to it or not.’

Weasley gave him one last long look.

‘Fine,’ he finally said. ‘You can stay here for the night. But only one night. And I’ll be damned before I teach you anything about _how to be poor_.’ He said the last part with a sneer that could have rivaled Draco’s best.

Draco let out the breath he had been holding.

Weasley turned around and Draco followed him inside.

The flat seemed clean, if a little small. There was a rather disturbing amount of orange in the decor - didn’t Weasley get enough of it from looking in the mirror every day? - but it was nicer than Draco had expected. Indistinguishable, animated redheads grinned and made faces at him from photographs on the walls. Weasley led him through the narrow hallway into a dining room with a small dining table for four.

‘So, tell me what happened,’ he said, before sitting down. Draco had been right about having interrupted his dinner. There was a half-eaten slice of roast pork on his plate and an assortment of dishes filled with food scattered on the table. Weasley had been drinking beer from a bottle, which was most definitely uncivilized, but after running around sweating in his robes all day, Draco wouldn’t have minded a cold drink himself.

In fact, he wouldn’t have minded a bite to eat either. The smell that arose from the meal in front of him made him nauseous with hunger. He hadn’t had anything to eat since early morning, when his breakfast had been interrupted by that fateful Floo call from his lawyer. Draco hesitated.

Weasley must have heard the rumble from his stomach because, resignedly, he gave a loud sigh and got up from his seat. ‘I’ll go get you a plate.’

Draco was almost sure he heard him muttering something akin to ‘there goes my lunch tomorrow’ on his way to the kitchen, but he pretended not to hear. He was famished and grateful that Weasley at least knew his basic manners. He sat down at the table, relieved. 

Weasley came back levitating a plate, a glass and cutlery. Draco could spot from afar that the cutlery wasn’t silver. But once the items were in front of him, he eagerly scooped some of the roast with potatoes and gravy onto his place, conscious of Weasley’s gaze on him.

When the warm food hit his tongue, Draco couldn’t help but sigh. It wasn’t what he would normally eat at home, but it reminded him of the food at Hogwarts; it was hearty and savoury.

‘This is delicious. You have to thank your house-elf from me,’ he said, after a few bites.

He looked up to see Weasley staring at him with a strange look on his face.

‘What?’ Draco said.

Then it hit him.

‘Oh, right. You don’t have a house-elf. Of course… I shouldn’t have assumed,’ he said. ‘Who cooked—nevermind. I can guess.’

Weasley didn’t say anything, just kept staring at him.

‘How do you manage it all?’ Draco said.

‘I have a _job_ , Malfoy. It’s what people do.’

‘Right,’ Malfoy said, still a little flustered from his blunder. He had come to Weasley with the intent to do what it took to get all the help out of him that he could. ‘I haven’t had a job. Not that there’s anything wrong with working. Perfectly respectable. Normal.’

Weasley rolled his eyes.

‘Alright. Out with it, Malfoy,’ Weasley said. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Well… As you know, Father and Mother died soon after the war.’

‘Yeah, I heard about it,’ Weasley said. ‘It was a curse, wasn’t it? Something You-Know-Who cast on his innermost followers in the event that they betrayed him.’

To his credit, there was nothing mocking about the way he talked. He even managed to look a little compassionate, although Draco knew there was no love lost between Weasley and his parents.

Draco nodded. Talking about his parents had gotten easier with time, but his throat still felt tight. He knew he wouldn’t be here as a free man if his mother hadn’t done what she had at the time, but it still stung him how the Ministry hadn’t taken the curse seriously. They had probably been too relieved to see the Dark Lord’s old followers mysteriously dropping like flies to really care for whatever caused it.

‘Well, I’ve managed things alright since then, with the help of consultants here and there. I had to sell quite a lot of our assets to get the estate running again, but overall, I was starting to get a handle on managing it.’

Weasley looked a little impatient, but he didn’t comment.

‘Then I learned that Father had a few side-businesses in the black market—’ Weasley gave a snort. ‘And apparently he didn’t manage his affairs very well, because I started getting increasingly threatening owls from various dealers. And the Dark— You-Know-Who seemed to also have a hand in his affairs, because a bunch of thugs wearing Death Eater masks appeared at my doorstep some days ago.

‘I contacted the Aurors and before I knew it, it was all over. They dealt with the thugs, but also found out about the rest of it, and I had to sell off everything as compensation for Father’s businesses. I’m lucky to have escaped arrest.’

Weasley didn’t comment for a long time. He finished his beer, keeping Draco under an evaluating gaze.

Draco had no idea what was running through Weasley’s head. He had counted on Weasley being too Gryffindor – too good – in nature to refuse him help. But now he wasn’t so sure.

He tried not to feel self-conscious under the scrutiny. He went on with his dinner, piling a second slice of roast onto his plate. He didn’t know when his next meal would be, so it was better to stock up on calories.

After what seemed like minutes, Weasley spoke.

‘Like I said, you can have one night. Tomorrow, I want you out of here,’ he said. ‘Sofa’s in the living room next to the kitchen. There’s a throw in there somewhere that you can use as a blanket, but cast a Cleaning Charm on it in the morning. I don’t want your slobber all over it.’

‘I don’t slobber!’ Draco started to protest.

Weasley didn’t respond. He got up, pushing his chair as he stood rather more loudly than necessary. Levitating the kitchenware on his way out, he left Draco alone to scrape the leftovers off his plate.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron slept worse than he would have liked. Something about the thought of an ex-Death Eater sleeping on his sofa made him restless. He yawned as he stuffed his work uniform into his bag and made his way downstairs.

‘Oh, you're still here,’ he said moodily as he passed the living room. He hadn’t been expecting otherwise, but it wasn’t as if he would let Malfoy think it was alright to just assume he was invited anywhere. The bastard had too big of a sense of entitlement already without Ron encouraging it.

‘Whazforbreakfast?’ Malfoy said, sitting up. His eyes were still half-closed; he rubbed them tiredly and gave a loud yawn. Ron snorted. It was clear that Malfoy was not a morning person.

‘Get up,’ Ron said. ‘It’s time you learned to cook something for yourself.’

‘At least let me use the loo first,’ Malfoy said.

With what looked like an immense effort, he rolled off the sofa. He was wearing boxers – at least he had the decency to keep his shirt on while he slept in Ron’s house. For a second, Ron wondered if he should have lent Malfoy one of his t-shirts to sleep in – but he shook his head at the thought. Malfoy could cast his own Refreshening Charms.

When Malfoy reappeared, he looked considerably less tousled with his chin shaved and hair spells in motion. Ron had gotten out all the breakfast ingredients.

‘You were decent at Potions. This shouldn’t be hard for you,’ he said. ‘Here, chop these onions.’

He gestured at the chopping board and knife that waited on one of the counters. It wasn’t out of pure goodwill that Ron had decided to teach Malfoy to cook. He didn’t have to lie to himself to admit there was a part of him that revelled in the thought of putting the posh prick to work.

Malfoy looked at him for a moment as if he was crazy, and like he was holding in words of protest, but instead with what seemed to take effort, said, ‘How small do you want them?’

‘I don’t mind. Use your own judgement,’ Ron said, deciding he wouldn’t help the git any more than was necessary. He picked out some spices off the spice rack and started to whisk them in with some eggs.

‘Do you have a recipe written down somewhere or have you memorized it?’ Malfoy asked, breaking the silence. He was done with chopping and was watching Ron work. His expression seemed genuinely curious.

‘It’s just a simple omelette. I just go with intuition, I suppose. ‘s not that hard,’ Ron said. ‘You can throw those into the pan next with some olive oil and sauté them until they get some color.’

Awkwardly, Malfoy did what he was told. Ron handed him a spatula and he took it, never letting his eyes leave the pan as if he was worried it would explode if he did.

‘It’s not a potion. It’s not really an exact science,’ Ron said. ‘A little improvisation won’t ruin it.’

‘Well, how should I know that? I’ve never cooked anything before,’ Malfoy spat. ‘And besides, many herbs and spices had magical properties and are used in potions, too.’

‘I don’t know about that, but I do know you won’t make my kitchen blow up by throwing a little parsley into an omelette,’ Ron said with an amused snort. To make smalltalk, he continued, ‘Did you genuinely never visit the kitchens of your house?’

‘Of course not. Mother always told me to stay away from the servants’ areas,’ he said. Ron could see from the corner of his eye that he looked horrified at the suggestion.

‘And here I thought all of you rich purebloods were raised by house-elves,’ Ron said.

‘Please tell me there’s coffee,’ said Malfoy, who had apparently decided to ignore his last quip.

‘Nope, just tea, ‘m afraid,’ Ron said, unable to hold back his grin at Malfoy’s pained look. ‘Put the kettle on.’

A minute later they were at the dining table, both with a steaming omelette and a cup of Ron’s favorite English breakfast tea in front of them, which Malfoy sniffed at with suspicion. The scene was almost cosy with rays of morning light wafting in through the translucent curtains, casting a kaleidoscope of warm tones on the table.

Ron shook his head to himself and ignored the odd look Malfoy gave him at the motion. The whole situation was absurd: having breakfast in a completely civilized manner with his former rival. He couldn’t wait to tell Harry and Hermione all about it once Malfoy was gone.

‘I—’ Malfoy seemed to hesitate. ‘I was hoping you would show me where to get a job.’

‘What makes you think I don’t have plans?’ Ron said, awoken from his thoughts. ‘I have a life, Malfoy! I have to go to work in a few minutes. It’s not my job to help you look for a job. You’re a grown man, although you try hard not to act like one. You’re resourceful. Figure it out.’

‘But—’

‘And don’t forget, I’m not your friend either. Can’t you just ask one of your friends to take you on? Ask Goyle if you can be his stable boy or gardener or something.’

The thought seemed to make Malfoy genuinely distressed. Ron saw a flash of panic on his face, but tried not to be affected by it. He had already let Malfoy impose on him far too long. He got up and started to gather up breakfast things.

‘I’m leaving now, and you’re leaving this door at the same time,’ Ron said.

‘Fine,’ Malfoy said. ‘I have to go to the Manor anyway to see if I can salvage any of my things.’

‘Do you think they’ve left something?’ Ron said, genuinely curious. Based on Malfoy’s story from last night, he had imagined the Manor echoing with emptiness, raided from any valuables.

‘They better,’ Malfoy said. He said it sulkily, but looked depressed. ‘I doubt the Ministry has any use for my toothbrush or night clothes.’

*

Ron’s heart wasn’t in his work at the Leaky that day. He said good morning to a yawning Hannah Abbott, who had worked the night shift, and took over the bar that was fortunately vacant of early-morning (or late-night) customers.

Much to his annoyance, he couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen to Malfoy next. Undoubtedly, he would hear all about it soon in the papers, but meanwhile, he would be stuck wondering whether he should have helped him a little bit more.

Ron felt a little uneasy at the thought of Malfoy wandering the streets of London, trying to find a warm place to stay the night. He shook his head – he was being melodramatic. Malfoy had plenty of acquaintances that could take him in. Besides, it was out of his hands now. A part of him felt a pang of regret, but he reminded himself of what a prick Malfoy had been at school and pushed the feeling away, focusing his scattered thoughts on wiping the tables clean from last night’s grime.

It still didn’t make any sense, Malfoy coming to him of all people. He couldn’t wait to explain everything to Harry and Hermione tomorrow. If he didn’t already have plans to see them soon, Ron might have dropped Harry a spontaneous Floo call.

*

Malfoy was lounging on the sofa, surrounded by cookbooks from Ron’s shelf. He put down _Magical 5-Minute Meals_ on the coffee table just as Ron came in.

‘Hello Weasley. How was work?’ Malfoy asked, as if nothing was amiss. Ron noticed he was wearing different clothes that he had been wearing that morning; he must have managed to get some of his things from the Manor after all. His eyes found the small, expensive-looking trunk next to the sofa, before they returned to Malfoy.

Ron sighed. ‘I should have figured it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of you. How did you get back in?’

‘I unlocked the backdoor this morning when you weren’t looking.’

‘Of course you did,’ Ron said. He should have remembered he was dealing with a Slytherin. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. There went his plans about lying down on the sofa with a beer. It was too small for them both.

He Accioed a chair from the dining room and two beers from the kitchen and decided he was going to be in a good mood despite his unwanted visitor.

‘So, what did you get about doing today?’ he asked. He supposed he was still in customer service mode having just returned from work. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been this easy to talk to Malfoy.

Malfoy looked at him sharply, but then relaxed again.

‘Went to the Manor, fought with some Ministry officials, managed to steal back a few personal items and even some family heirlooms,’ Malfoy said. ‘Was robbed of said heirlooms when they did a check on me as I was leaving.’ He shrugged.

‘No job-searching?’

‘No job-searching,’ Malfoy said with an airy sigh. He sipped his beer and looked comically tragic for a second.

‘Don’t you have friends?’ Ron said.

‘Of course I do,’ Malfoy snapped. Then he went quiet.

Ron gave him a questioning look, and Malfoy sighed again.

‘I can’t tell my friends the truth about my current situation. I don’t want them to see me in the state I’m in. They’ll find out once it hits the papers, but at that point I hope to have myself a bit more together than I am right now.’

‘Look,’ Ron said. ‘I know all about the humiliation of not having anything to your name. In fact, certain people used to find it amusing to rub it in my face every time they talked to me.’ Malfoy had the decency not to meet his eye. ‘If your friends really care about you, they’ll try to help you. They won’t give you crap for something that’s out of your hands.’

When Malfoy looked like he didn’t believe him, Ron added, ‘Actually, considering that they’re your friends, they likely _will_ humiliate you. They did seem to hold some pretty shallow opinions of people.’

‘They just have standards,’ Malfoy said.

‘Standards, right,’ Ron repeated, giving a slow nod. ‘That’s some bloody nice standards they have.’

‘What do you do for work?’ Malfoy said. He seemed eager to change the subject. ‘I suppose you’re an Auror, like Potter.’

‘Nah,’ Ron said. The beer was bubbling to his head, making him feel light and relaxed. ‘I started Auror training but I didn’t have the drive and dedication for it. Guess I was just done fighting after the war. Harry’s really passionate about his job, but I suppose I just always wanted things to be comfortable after everything that went on. I’m a bartender, actually.’

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

‘I work at the Leaky a few days a week and also do some shifts at a nearby pub, the Grumpy Ghoul, it’s at—’

‘At the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley,’ Malfoy finished for him. ‘I know the place.’

‘Oh? I can’t imagine you’d have been to a place like the Ghoul.’

‘I’ve been there once. Blaise’s stag night. We did a… I believe the term is pub crawl.’

He looked a little sheepish, but simultaneously proud. Ron shook his head in amusement. Malfoy… was full of surprises, it seemed.

‘Speaking of pubs – how do you like the beer? Billywig Brewery is a new operator in the industry, we’ve only just received our first order from them at the Ghoul. I’m trying to taste the lot so that I know what I’m talking about when I recommend them to customers.’

He watched Malfoy take another sip from his bottle, a pondering look on his face. It struck Ron as funny to see him drink straight out of a bottle – something he clearly wasn’t accustomed to – his pinky finger sticking out.

‘It’s a bit watery,’ Malfoy said eventually. ‘It’s not horrible, I suppose.’

Ron grimaced. ‘No pale ales for you then. I’d give you a good stout or porter to try next, to understand your taste better. Golder Bough has some good ones.’

‘I’m not much of a beer-drinker,’ Malfoy said. ‘Wine, on the other hand… I’ll never say no to a glass of good wine.’

‘No beer, no tea, fair enough,’ Ron said. ‘You’d be surprised, but I actually know a thing or two about wine.’

For the next few moments, they sipped their drinks in amicable silence. Ron took his time to enjoy the refreshing mingle of tanginess and hops on his tongue. It might not have catered to Malfoy’s delicate palette, but as a simple beer-loving bloke, Ron was pleased with his most recent find.

He placed the bottle on the coffee table and couldn’t believe what he was about to say next.

‘Malfoy?’

‘Hmm?’ Malfoy cocked his head and looked at him.

‘You can stay. For two weeks. By that time I want you to have a plan and another place to stay,’ Ron said. ‘But—’ Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something, but Ron continued. ‘If you’re going to stay here, there needs to be some rules. One. You need to do your share of the housework.’

‘Of course,’ Malfoy said, quickly. ‘I don’t expect to stay here on charity.’

‘And two,’ Ron looked at him sternly. ‘You need to stop insulting me.’

‘But you still get to insult me? How is that fair?’

‘It’s my house, so they’re my rules,’ Ron said, letting a grin spread to his face. He enjoyed the look of heat rising to Malfoy’s cheeks. ‘If you can’t take it, you can walk right out of that door.’

Malfoy didn’t say anything.

‘Third rule. I’m not going to parent you. You have to take responsibility for your own bloody life,’ Ron said. ‘That means getting yourself a job, for starters.’

‘I’ll pay back the rent once I’m better off again,’ Malfoy said stiffly. He went quiet and started fiddling with a piece of imaginary lint on Ron’s sofa.

Suddenly Ron had nothing else to say. It had been easy enough to talk to Malfoy up until then, but now Ron felt an exhaustion wash over him. It had been a long day, and talking to an old rival didn’t really decrease his tiredness. Ron suddenly remembered that if one didn’t count their years at Hogwarts trying to get a rise out of each other, they were practically strangers.

He tipped the remaining foamy dribble of beer down his throat and got up.

He went upstairs to fetch Malfoy some proper bed sheets. If he was going to have the pointy bastard on his sofa, he wanted to at least make sure his sofa didn’t get greasy from all the skin and haircare potions the git laddled himself with.

It looked like Ron’s invitation for Malfoy to make himself at home had been unnecessary. By the looks of it, Malfoy had already rummaged through his linen cupboard for a towel, or more likely, cast an Accio without bothering to think of the consequences based on the chaos inside.

Well, Ron supposed he would rather deal with a clean Malfoy than an unwashed Malfoy

When he returned downstairs, Malfoy had his back to him and was just putting on a nightshirt. Ron watched a strip of pale skin disappear under grey silk before Malfoy turned around. His pale fingers fiddled with some buttons, and Ron found himself strangely transfixed at the swift motions.

‘Here,’ Ron said, suddenly self-conscious. He dropped the pillow and bed sheets onto the sofa. ‘I don’t want you soiling my sofa,’ he added, knowing the remark was unnecessarily petty.

‘I won’t do anything to your precious— Thank you,’ Malfoy said. He had started off with his usual snappy tone but changed midway to the odd, neutral voice from before. His mouth twitched a little, probably from straining to hold back a sneer. Avoiding Ron’s gaze, he took the pile of linen and started setting out his bed.

‘Malfoy?’ Ron said. Malfoy paused his work and turned to him. Ron was painfully aware this was the second time today he was giving into his weakness that was apparently being nice to gits that used to be terrible towards him. ‘Forget what I said about not insulting me. It’s too fucking weird having you try to be nice to me.’


	3. Chapter 3

Draco got up early and tiptoed into the kitchen after his extensive morning grooming routine. He wanted to stay true to his word and do something useful around the house, if only to prove he wasn’t as completely useless as Weasley seemed to think he was.

He frowned as he looked around, and for a moment, got lost in thought staring at Weasley’s fascinating Muggle fridge that was covered in letters, magnets and other strange memorabilia. There was a photo of him with Potter, Granger, Longbottom and Lovegood on what looked like a holiday somewhere obviously non-Britain. 

Seeing their laughter caused an involuntary ache in Draco’s chest.

One after another, he threw all of Weasley’s kitchen cupboards open, trying to follow his well-laid-out plan. Poached eggs and toast – he had read the recipe in one of Weasley’s cookbooks last night enough times to memorize it. Now it was just a matter of locating everything he needed.

He did a risky Accio for the bread, and it whizzed into his hands, sending a gust of crumbs around the kitchen floor. He found the carton of eggs after a systematic rummage through the fridge, and as a pleasant addition, discovered a packet of breakfast sausages. A scavenge for the appropriate utensils followed.

Thirty minutes, four broken eggs, and two near-boils (thank Merlin for his Seeker’s reflexes) later, Draco levitated his first-ever home-cooked meal into the dining room.

‘You didn’t have to do that,’ Ron said. He stood at the door, still in his dark-orange pyjamas. His ears were red.

‘How am I going to learn if I don’t practice?’ Draco said. He touched the teapot lightly with his wand and it began to pour out the tea.

A strange feeling swelled inside of him, watching Weasley eat.

Of course, the sight was mostly unpleasant; Weasley had terrible table manners, and he seemed to think it was alright to shove an entire sausage in his mouth at once and gulp it down with a loud slurp of tea. But it was… nice to have someone enjoy something he had made.

Draco hadn’t had many reasons to feel good about himself these recent days.

The newspaper owl flew in through the open window and Draco snatched it before Weasley had a chance. If Weasley had truly meant what he said about wanting Draco to stop being weirdly polite around him, that’s what he was going to do. He hadn’t checked the news since the previous morning and was anxious to see if anything about his situation had been leaked to the press yet.

When nothing came up for the first few pages, he gave up looking and tossed the paper across the table to Weasley. If there had been anything to report, it would have made the front page.

‘I’m taking you to Harry’s today,’ Ron said. ‘Hermione’ll be there too. She can help you out with your job applications.’

‘You told Potter and Granger?’ Draco said. ‘I never said you could tell everyone!’

‘Stop being such a self-conscious twat,’ Ron said. ‘If you can’t ask your own friends to help, at least let me ask mine. You need Hermione. I’ve always been rubbish at writing.

‘Besides, I was going to meet them today anyway. Since you’ve decided to stick around, you might as well come with me,’ he added.

Draco supposed he was right, but that didn’t stop him from being sullen and moody for the remainder of breakfast. His situation was humiliating enough without involving Potter and Granger, who would probably not only torment him, but tell everyone they knew about his situation.

‘You’ll be in the house of your relatives. It’s all creepy and full of dark magic. You’ll feel right at home,’ said Ron, who had apparently been watching him brood for a while.

‘Really, where?’

‘Your Mum’s cousins house.’

Draco cheered up a little hearing this. He dug back into his too-crisp toast with better vigour than before, and when Weasley wasn’t looking, Accioed back the newspaper to skim through the Quidditch section.

Another owl came as they were about to leave. Draco recognized it before Weasley had time to open the window; the elegant barn owl was unmistakable.

_Draco,_

_I tried calling at the Manor but you weren’t home. I expect you’re busy with some business, unless you’ve left on a secret holiday, which would be very cruel and unthoughtful. You can’t expect me to entertain myself in this wretched world, can you?_

_How about that shopping trip you promised me a few weeks back? I could really do with my favorite dazzling boy-toy at my arm, helping me carry the goods. Levitation spells are so last season._

_Yours,  
Pansy_

Draco’s heart sank a little as he folded the letter and put it in his pocket. As nice as it was to know that his disappearance held some concern to Pansy, he still hadn’t decided what to do about his friends. His thoughts returned to the conversation from the night before – he knew Weasley had probably just been trying to be nice (or to find a convenient way to get rid of him), but Weasley simply didn’t understand his position.

Draco’s friends had always relied on him being strong, confident, unwavering. Moreover, the Parkinsons, Zabinis – really, all the families of his friends – were used to doing business with the Malfoys.

His failure was their failure.

‘I can clean up, since you made breakfast,’ Weasley said, interrupting his thoughts.

‘You’ll regret it as soon as you see the kitchen, but I won’t stop you,’ Draco said. He grinned shamelessly as he remembered the state he had left the kitchen in.

It only occurred to him a few minutes later when he and Weasley were standing in the Floo that he had no idea where Weasley stood with Potter and Granger these days. Weasley had mentioned Granger casually, which made Draco suspect they were only friends. If they were together, it would have been strange that she hadn’t visited Weasley’s flat at all.

Then again, dating or not dating, it wouldn’t have surprised Draco if Granger didn’t want to spend time at the flat. It was so dreadfully orange.

*

‘Malfoy,’ Potter said. His tone was neutral enough, but his arms were crossed, leaving Draco with no room to think that he was happy to welcome him into his house. A mixture of careful evaluation and amusement played on his face.

Granger seemed to have Potter’s reservations. Draco could see a malicious glint in her eye as she eyed him all over.

‘Care to explain why you brought him here?’ she said to Weasley.

‘Do we really have to do this?’ Draco asked Weasley in a low voice, not liking the way Granger had decided he wasn’t even worth addressing directly.

‘I can’t handle you alone,’ Weasley said. ‘Wait here for a moment. I need to have a word with them in private.’

He grabbed Potter by the arm and ushered Granger along with him up the stairs.

Draco was left alone to examine the house. He couldn’t resist a peek behind the heavy curtain at the end of the hall, but quickly closed it again when he saw the terrifying-looking woman behind it.

This was not the time to talk to crazy relatives, as fascinating as they might be.

He left his coat hanging in the hall and wandered further into the house.

He entered what appeared to be a drawing room, and breathed in the stuffy scent of old furniture and dusty drapes. The room clearly wasn’t seeing much use these days. It was a shame; it was a quaint albeit haughty room, with lovely Victorian pieces.

Draco stopped as he noticed the markings on the opposite wall. As if in a trance, he approached the wall slowly, and carefully took in the sight of it: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The tapestry was faded but for a few names, but Draco could see it had been impressive back in the day. He traced his fingers over the elegant linework, spotting familiar names from the stories of his childhood.

There was Belvina Black, who had allegedly invited Muggles for supper only to make _them_ the supper – Draco suspected it was only a tale told to children to scare them, but he had never been sure. He recognized Pollux Black, who had – he was told – heroically fought for better pureblood rights in order to protect them from undeserving, all-taking mixed-bloods. And of course, there was his aunt Bellatrix, brilliant but mad, one of the perpetrators that had ultimately led Draco’s family to their doom.

He spotted his own name, less faded than many of the others, under Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy. A confusing mixture of feelings flooded him.

The longing for his parents that had begun to dull over the years was back for a sharp, harrowing instant. He wondered what they would think of him now, standing in the house of his foremothers under such disappointing circumstances. The line of Malfoy, forever tainted by his choices and the decisions of his family, as they knew it had come to an end. Would it come to grace these walls again with anything worth celebrating?

Maybe it wasn’t entirely up to him. The male-line of Black stopped at Sirius and Regulus, but a fresh name, Edward Lupin, had been added underneath Draco’s cousin Nymphadora.

Draco felt an odd resentment towards that name. He had a feeling that this child wasn’t going to grow up feeling the pressures of complex pureblood politics.

He supposed he had always resented the Golden Trio for pretty much the same reason. Potter was allowed exemption from his complicated heritage due to his unusual childhood and his role as the Wizardkind’s saviour. Granger, who was Muggleborn, was inevitably at a distance from such things.

Weasley, in a way, was most similar to Draco, but also his complete opposite. His family could have been right in the midst of it all: the status, the scheming, the craziness. But they had long ago dropped any attachments to such things, and as of recent, Draco had started to wonder if it hadn’t been as bad a choice as he had been taught to believe.

Draco startled when he heard a rustle from the doorway. Ron stood there, and looked like he might have been standing there for a moment.

‘Hey Malfoy?’ Ron said. ‘We’re ready to start.’

*

‘So, Ron tells me you’re poor and unemployed now, and we’re supposed to help you?’ Granger said.

They had led Draco to a grim-looking kitchen, and were standing around a large, wooden table. For a frightening second, Draco had thought they were leading him to some ancient torture device – no doubt old, pureblood houses of darker traditions still had them – and that all of Ron’s hospitality had in fact been a show, and he had planned to turn him in to Potter and Granger all along.

‘Something like that,’ Draco said sulkily to Granger. _I don’t want your help_ , he almost spat, but decided it wasn’t a good idea to rock the boat any more when the look on Granger’s face already warned him she might erupt into a storm any moment.

‘This is not how I imagined I would spend my day off,’ Granger said, but ever-prepared, she conjured a scroll of parchment and some ink from somewhere with an efficient tap of her wand.

Draco seated himself a safe distance away from her, on the other side of Ron.

‘I’ll, er, get the tea,’ Potter said. ‘I don’t think I’d be of any help, anyway.’

If it hadn’t been for Granger’s hawklike glare, Draco probably would have snickered at Potter’s pitiful expression. There was something endlessly funny about The Boy Who Lived living the glamorous life of a tea-fetcher.

‘So, Malfoy. Do you have any idea what you might want to do for a living?’ Ron asked.

Draco paused to think.

‘Wasn’t there anything you ever dreamt of as a child? Before you realized that Malfoys are too cream of the crop and loaded to work like ordinary people?’

Draco shot him a glare.

‘Well, I always wanted to be a professional Quidditch player,’ Draco said. That had been before his father had had The Talk with him about their position in the world. It had involved a lot of whining and crying on Draco’s part, until his father had convinced him he’d get to be third-most powerful after himself and the Dark Lord. Small-Draco had been appeased by the thought of having his own throne to sit on. In retrospect, it wasn’t one of his proudest memories. ‘Obviously, I’m not naive enough to think of that as an option,’ he said, annoyed at the looks of disbelief Ron and Granger were giving him.

‘There’s always the Ministry. I could start as the Minister’s assistant. Of course, I’d eventually go for Minister, but…’

‘He’s impossible,’ Granger said to Ron, as if ‘he’ wasn’t present. ‘Who does he think he is for thinking he doesn’t have to put in the work like everybody else? You need to start at the bottom of the ladder like everybody else, Malfoy.’

‘My grades were excellent, I’ll have you know,’ Draco snapped.

The tension in the room was rising.

‘Okay, let me rephrase my question. Do you have any idea what you might be good at?’ Ron said.

‘They’re always looking for new cleaners at the Ministry,’ Granger said with a nasty, triumphant smile. Draco swore, this woman was more Slytherin by nature than people gave her credit for.

‘What did I just tell you?’ Draco said. ‘I’m not entirely useless, as much as you clearly want to think I am. I have an education, and I’d like to be able to use it.’

‘Are you saying you don’t appreciate the important work that Cleaners do?’ Granger said. She had a dangerous glint in her eye. Ron, in the meanwhile, looked like he had never been more uncomfortable in his life. He picked on some crumbs on the table and decidedly avoided looking at either of them.

‘I’m saying wizards shouldn’t be doing work like that in the first place, when we have house-elves—’ Draco started.

‘Tea and scones,’ Potter said, interrupting them. ‘Andromeda brought them yesterday. They’re not quite fresh but cast a Warming Charm and they’ll do.’

‘Lovely,’ Draco said sarcastically.

It took effort for Draco to keep back his snappy remarks when everything Granger said seemed to be targeted to make him feel worse about himself.

The truth was, he didn’t know if there was anything he was good at. Anything apart from being second-best at Quidditch, second-best in all his classes, a lousy ex-Death Eater and apparently horrible at managing his businesses.

He sunk further into his seat, leaning his head on his arms, and tried to ignore how the three of them seemed to be having a wordless conversation in front of him. It would have almost been impressive if Draco hadn’t known it was about him. Granger seemed to give Ron a look that said ‘he’s your problem, deal with him’.

‘I brought the newest Prophet. Maybe you can look through the ads section there for jobs,’ Potter said carefully.

Draco frowned at the ads. Most of them looked for summer trainees for various sales and customer service positions. His eyes lingered on the ad for the robe shop at the 55th, Transition Alley. He could almost imagine himself strutting through the shop in his shiny, well-fitted robes, knowingly describing their selection to prospective customers… but no, if anyone from his pureblood circles stepped into the shop, it would be far too humiliating.

Ron looked over his shoulder.

‘Looking for male companion between the age of 18 and 30,’ he read. ‘Must be nice-looking and must dress nicely. That’s a lot of nice Miss Marguerite is after,’ he said with a snicker.

‘Ronald! Are you implying that I’m attractive?’ Draco said, bringing his hand to his mouth in mock-surprise.

‘What? No!’ he said, dropping the scone he had been holding. ‘I mean, maybe you’re alright enough that some weirdo might want to pay to see you… I think you’re hideous, obviously. And never call me Ronald again.’

Potter and Granger seemed to share a look.

Tormenting Ron apparently did something to lift Draco’s spirits. He returned to the advertisements in a better mood.

Some of the more interesting jobs available included a summer reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ , which would involve travelling to various magical festivals, and an assistant’s job for an Ancient Charms professor.

‘I always did like Charms,’ Draco muttered to himself.

Granger Accioed the paper from him and looked over it, frowning. ‘I suppose this is something you could apply for. You were pretty good at Charms.’

‘Yeah, let’s not forget about that one time when he revived some old Vanishing Cabinets so that Voldemort could sneak his Death Eaters into Hogwarts,’ Potter said. ‘How do you think that’ll look on his resume?’

‘I’d like to disagree with you, but you’re actually making a depressingly good point,’ Draco said, slumping further into his chair again. For a moment, he had had his hopes up.

‘We’ve been sitting at this table for an hour and haven’t gotten anywhere. So either you start doing something or stop wasting our time,’ Granger said.

‘Fine, fine! I’ll write to him,’ Draco said. ‘Merlin, you people…’

‘Generally, it’s a good idea to send out several applications,’ Hermione started. ‘You’re unlikely to get the first place—’

‘Generally, it’s a waste of time to put resources into something that mightn’t amount to anything,’ Draco stopped her. ‘I’ll write to Professor Najjar, and _if_ I don’t get the job, I’ll write to someone else. Now tell me what I need to write.’

*

Draco let himself sink into the slightly saggy sofa and stretched himself out after long hours at the hard kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. It was already getting dark outside; Ron spelled the lights on in the living room and the shadows subsided, engulfed by a warm, glowing light.

‘Any beer on the menu tonight?’ Draco asked him. Ron seemed to linger in the doorway to the kitchen.

‘I really shouldn't. I have work tomorrow,’ Ron said, shrugging. But he didn’t do anything to move.

‘Live a little.’

‘Says a man currently living on someone’s sofa,’ Ron said. ‘Unemployed and alcoholic. You really are a catch.’

‘Don’t forget homeless,’ Draco added, and Ron laughed.

‘Easy to forget.’

‘So, you and Granger,’ Draco said. ‘I take it you aren’t together anymore.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Mainly the obvious lack of chemistry. And the fact there seemed to be a ring on her finger, and I don’t see one on yours. It’s sort of a giveaway, really.’

‘Yeah, Hermione’s pretty serious about Neville,’ Ron said. He sat himself down on the chair left by the coffee table from the previous night. ‘I wholeheartedly approve, by the way.’

‘Neville? As in Neville Longbottom?’

Ron gave him a sharp look, clearly expecting him to follow up with some sardonic comment. ‘I’ll admit it was a bit surprising at first, but I’ve spent enough time with the two of them together to realize that they’re good for each other. Accio two Ermines.’

Two bottles of beer came soaring into his hands, and he opened them with some spell Draco had never heard before. Tricks of the trade, clearly.

He passed the other one to Draco and sat on the chair from last night.

‘Here’s one of those Golden Bough stouts I mentioned. It might be a little heavy after Harry’s cooking, but let’s see if you like it better than the one from last night. To future jobs.’

‘To future jobs,’ Draco agreed, raising his bottle.

They sipped their beers in amicable silence. It was definitely an improvement to the one from last night. Draco sighed pleasantly as the full, creamy flavour hit his tongue.

‘So, how about you?’ Ron asked after a while. ‘Anyone you’re seeing?’

‘Not at the moment,’ Draco said. ‘There’s been a few less-serious things throughout the years, and there was even one serious relationship a year or so ago, but he moved back to France.’

He said it smoothly, but kept a watch on Ron to see how he would react to the pronoun.

‘After Hermione, there was a… bloke,’ Ron said. ‘Nothing serious, we just fooled around mostly.’

Draco tried not to show his surprise, but he felt his eyebrows rise a little nevertheless. Suddenly, he saw an opportunity he couldn’t resist.

‘Aww,’ he drawled. ‘I always thought you had a thing for Potter. Fourth year, during the tournament, there was a wild rumour going on in the Slytherin Common Room, about you and Potter being lovers. It’s nice to have that confirmed after all these years.’

He kept his face straight for a moment, and then burst into a mad cackle.

‘Fuck you, I’m trying to tell you something that most people don’t know about, and of course you make a bloody joke of it,’ Ron grumbled. But he didn’t seem particularly pissed off.

Draco levitated a worn chess-set down from a nearby shelf.

‘How about a chess match before bed? If I win, I get the bed,’ Draco said.

Ron rolled his eyes. ‘You’re on, ferret.’


	4. Chapter 4

Of course, Malfoy had bloody won. Ron woke up to an aching back and the rather disturbing notion that he wasn’t quite that young anymore. He had spent the whole night in a tortuous half-sleep, squirming on the too-small sofa as images of chess pieces with Malfoy’s face on them jumped before his eyes.

It took him a second to realize it hadn’t been his alarm spell that had woken him up, but Draco pacing around the living room.

‘He replied. He said he’s interested,’ Draco said cryptically, not ceasing his pacing.

‘Who?’ Ron said. He tried to gather his wits. His head felt like it had been hit by a Bludger, heavy from the sleepless night.

‘Professor Najjar. I have an interview in three hours.’

‘Oh. Congratulations, then.’

He sat up in his makeshift bed and yawned loudly.

‘It’s just an interview, it’s not like I got the job yet,’ Draco said with a sniff. ‘But I am going to ace this. Do you think three hair-spells are a bit too much?’

‘Er,’ Ron said.

‘And also, do you still have your old Charms books from school? I already looked through your old school trunk and your wardrobe but they weren’t there. I could take a look at them just to be safe.’

He was speaking at a fast pace, reminding Ron of squeaking chatter of a pixie.

‘Hey! You can’t just go rummaging through my things without asking me,’ Ron said. His irritation gave him enough of an energy boost to get up from the sofa.

‘It was an emergency. Besides, I thought you might not appreciate being woken, so it was only considerate of me.’

‘Well, it’s my house, and I want to keep certain things private,’ Ron said. ‘And too bad for you, I threw all my school books out after eighth year was over. I could ask Hermione, or Neville perhaps, but I kind of have to go to work soon, so you’re on your own.’

He proceeded to the loo, ignoring Draco’s fretful voice behind him.

It appeared that Draco’s insistence on making breakfast had been short-lived. When Ron returned to get started on breakfast, Draco just moved his pacing into the kitchen, but didn’t offer to help. Ron got out the toast, butter and marmalade and boiled them both some tea.

Draco sat across him in the dining room and absentmindedly took a slice of toast.

‘I should have asked Granger what to say in a job interview. What if he asks me something I don’t know the answer to?’ Draco said. ‘Are you supposed to bring a gift? Usually, it’s a good idea to bring a gift when you meet someone of importance.’

‘I think most people would consider that to be a bribe,’ Ron said. ‘Although knowing your family, that’s probably what you’ve been taught to do,’ he muttered.

‘Right, no gift then,’ Draco said. He seemed to be barely listening to Ron at all, because normally he wouldn’t have let a comment about his parents slip.

‘I don’t have time to explain everything right now, but just be yourself. I mean, be a _nice_ version of yourself,’ Ron said. ‘It’s just an assistant’s position, so you don’t have to know everything.

‘When I was being interviewed to the Leaky, I barely knew anything. Tom was just looking for someone with a good attitude and willingness to learn. When he asked me to make a Scented Snowball and I didn’t know how, he walked me through it and said afterwards that I was good at taking instruction.’

Ron got up and started to gather up breakfast things. Draco looked a little calmer. Calm enough to have at least finally started to chew on his bit of toast.

Ron remembered something. ‘Hey, I’m going to have drinks with George and Lee after work. You should join us. We can celebrate your new job, if you get it.’

‘What do you mean _if_ I get it? Are you saying that you think I won’t?’ Draco said, the fast, anxious tone of voice immediately returning.

‘No,’ Ron said, ‘but you’re impossible to talk to right now, so I’ll just go now. See you at six at the Ghoul. Good luck with your interview.’

‘I don’t need luck, I have talent!’ Draco barked after him.

As Ron stepped into the Floo, he couldn’t block the disturbing thought that Draco had only lived with him for three days, but the way they talked was already like an old, married couple.

*

‘Ronniekins! Show us what you got,’ George said, appearing beside him at the bar.

Ron was sitting on the customer-side of the bar at the Ghoul. He had been lucky to do a day-shift on Saturday. The bar was just starting to get crowded; he didn’t envy his co-workers, who were sweating to keep orders coming.

‘I got off my shift ten minutes ago. You can order your drink from the bartender like an ordinary person,’ Ron said. He leaned into his brother's half-hug, and nodded a greeting at Lee. Lee returned the nod and flashed him his warm, signature smile.

‘What, no special brotherly perks?’ George said, putting on an expression of mock-injury.

‘Your perks were revoked the moment you decided it was acceptable to charge me normal prices for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products,’ Ron said.

‘That was years ago!’ George objected. ‘I didn’t know then that you'd become the drink maker extraordinaire you are today.’

‘Yeah, well I’m still waiting for my reduced-priced Skiving Snackboxes.’

‘What would you even skive from?’ Lee said, looking interested. He had moved to Ron’s other side to hear him better. ‘Rough weekends at the Ghoul?’

‘That, or possibly Malfoy…’ Ron muttered. Lee raised an eyebrow at him, and Ron continued, ‘I’ll explain in a moment.’

He looked at Lee more closely and spotted little beads in his braids in a variety of colors. They had the letters ‘WWW’ moving across them.

‘Wow, you’re like a walking ad.’

‘Cool, aren’t they?’ Lee said, his smile widening at Ron’s comment. ‘So, barmaster. What do you recommend around these parts that’s good for quenching that post-work thrist?’

‘I know just the thing,’ Ron said. Although he wasn’t on duty anymore, he couldn’t help the way his brain lit up – as if someone had cast a small Lumos inside his head – every time someone asked him for a recommendation. Shuffling through his mental catalogue for just the right drink was one of his favourite things about being a bartender. He motioned to his friend at the bar. ‘Three Felixes, on the rocks,’ he said, deciding today was as good as any day for some spectacular flavours catered to each individual’s taste.

Ron followed George and Lee to an empty booth.

‘I should probably warn you guys that we won’t be alone tonight. I invited someone along. He’s someone you both know from school. It might be a little weird, but you don’t have to go out of your way to be nice to him,’ Ron said.

‘Ah, he appears to be right behind you,’ George said, pointing at Ron’s shoulder. ‘If it’s indeed our favourite ex-Death Eater you’re talking about.’

Ron looked behind him and indeed, there was Malfoy, looking sorely out of place against the crowd of Ghoul regularls in his smart night-blue cloak with silver fastenings.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Malfoy said in an indecipherable tone of voice.

‘Malfoy,’ George greeted, giving him a curt nod, and Lee repeated the motion. ‘You’re not the first person I thought I’d be spending my Saturday evening with.’

‘Funnily enough, I’ve heard a lot of similar comments in the past days,’ Draco said with a sneer.

Ron scooted over to make room in the booth. Draco pulled off his cloak with a dramatic yank and slid into the seat beside him.

‘I have a feeling there will be a very interesting explanation to all of this,’ George said.

‘I don’t know if I’d call it interesting. Maybe absurd and mildly uncomfortable,’ Ron said. He said it with a chuckle and glanced at Draco, expecting he would say something funny to agree with him, but Draco just looked sour.

‘I’m glad I’m just a mild inconvenience for you,’ Draco spat.

‘Malfoy ran into a bit of a tight spot, and I’ve given him a place to stay until he gets himself sorted out,’ Ron explained to George and Lee, who were looking at them curiously.

‘He’s living with you?’ George said, looking surprised. Then, his eyes took a mischievous glint. ‘Well, I have to say, that escalated quickly. I would have at least introduced him to the family first.’

‘George!’

‘Ugh, at least warn me before you’re going to suggest something as disgusting as that,’ Draco said. ‘I would not be seeing this idiot even if the option was between him and Hagrid.’

‘Hey! Said idiot is offering you a place to stay, so I wouldn’t insult him at every given moment,’ Ron said.

‘As you never stop reminding me…’ Draco muttered under his breath.

The atmosphere in their booth was becoming increasingly less comfortable. Draco was brooding and didn’t seem inclined to make conversation. Lee kept looking between them and appeared uncharacteristically at a loss for words. George, who had always been immune to awkward situations, just seemed like he would have been content watching the awkwardness unfold had he a tub of popcorn in front of him.

Ron realized Draco didn’t have a drink in front of him.

‘Let me go get you something to drink. What do you want – wine?’

‘I suppose. I can’t be drinking any more of that horrendous hops-flavoured water you beer maniacs like to pretend you enjoy.’

‘White or red?’ Ron asked, ignoring his retort.

‘Are you a complete idiot? White, of course! I’m miserable, and you can’t drink to misery with red wine.’

‘Okay… Sorry I even asked,’ Ron said, and shot a glare at him. ‘Dry or sweet? Or is that a stupid question too? Oh, I know just the right sickeningly sweet misery wine for you… I’ll go get it.’

He marched to the bar and tried to not let Malfoy’s mood affect him.

Ron could already guess that the interview hadn’t gone well. He hadn’t wanted to ask in front of George and Lee in case Draco was sensitive about sharing such a thing with people he barely knew, but Draco was behaving like an utter moron. Ron wondered if the whole night would turn out to be like this, being at the receiving end of Draco’s scathing words.

When he returned with Draco’s drink, Lee was just getting up and putting his cloak on.

‘I’m going out for a smoke, does anyone care to join?’ Lee said.

‘Yes _please_ ,’ Draco said. He grabbed the glass Ron handed him, nearly spilling some of its contents with the sudden movement.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ Ron pointed out.

‘Well, I can’t afford it now, can I, so how would you know?’ Draco snapped. ‘And I don’t. Except for the occasional party smoke. Which I’m in dire need of _now_.’

They left and Ron and George watched as their backs receded into the crowd of after-workers.

‘So, Malfoy,’ George said. ‘You do realize that’s the same Malfoy that got Bill almost killed?’

‘Yeah, I haven’t forgotten.’

‘And the same Malfoy Harry and I tried to beat up after a Quidditch match because he was insulting our parents?’

‘I know,’ Ron said. Nothing George said was really helping to alleviate every thought and concern he had been having ever since he had extended Draco his invitation. ‘He’s… trying.’

‘He still seems like the same git from school. But I trust you know what you’re doing.’

‘He’s been more of a git tonight than usual, to tell the truth,’ Ron said. ‘Believe it or not, but I’ve actually been getting along with him for the most part.’

George raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ Ron said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. ‘It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. He’s just been more… tolerable than I thought. And he plays a decent match of chess.’

‘A redeeming quality indeed,’ George said, still staring at Ron in the same, infuriatingly knowing look. ‘I wonder if Mister “plays a decent match of chess” would have ever done the same to you, if you came to him for help.’

Ron recalled the past few moments since Draco had arrived at the pub and thought: _no_. A part of him was still fuming because of every remark and sneer.

For most of what Ron had observed him during the days of their reacquaintance, Draco had been nothing but a right git, uncaring towards the feelings of others. Still, something made him want to give Draco the benefit of doubt.

George continued, ‘I wouldn’t have ever imagined I’d see Draco Malfoy stoop to taking alms from his old enemy, and in front of strangers, of all things. I may not have many reasons to sympathize with him, but I have to give him some credit. It can’t be easy for him right now.’

Ron considered his words. Maybe next time, he wouldn’t ask Draco about his drink in front of other people.

‘When did you become so wise?’ he asked George.

‘Must have been around one drink ago,’ George said with a cheeky shrug.

Ron heard Draco’s familiar grating voice behind him and turned to see him and Lee returning through the crowd. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, and was engaged in conversation with Lee.

‘Sometimes we do demonstrations – sales presentations, and the like, but also company parties, stag nights and childrens’ birthday parties,’ Lee explained. ‘I’ve been pretty busy organizing events lately.’

They sat down again, and Lee pulled out a shiny catalogue with lots of brightly flashing and zooming pictures. They spent the next few moments chattering about the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products. It was a safe topic; Draco relaxed visibly and seemed to forget to be as snappy towards Ron as he had been before. He directed most of his talking at Lee, who he seemed to have decided was easiest to talk to. He was putting on a social front, one Ron recognized from school, although Ron was also happy to notice it lacked most of its former haughtiness.

Ron noticed the wine glass had emptied itself and he stole away quietly to fetch them another round.

When he came back with drinks for himself and Draco, it was just Draco sitting in their booth.

‘They said they needed to go talk outside about something for a moment,’ Draco said with a shrug. He was fiddling with a coaster, his elegant fingers twirling mindlessly around the small object.

Ron took his seat and pushed a full wine glass at him.

Draco let the coaster drop onto the table and switched to directing his restlessness to the leg of the glass. He kept turning the glass around its axis, his eyes firmly on the table. When he spoke, the surly voice Ron recognized was back.

‘I suppose I should thank you,’ he said, putting a nasty emphasis on “thank”.

‘How about you just stop acting like a twat?’ Ron said, feeling a brief surge of anger inside him again.

They sat in silence for a moment. Ron took a sip of his Pumpkin Pilsner; he didn’t enjoy it as much as he would have liked to, and that itself annoyed him more. How Malfoy could ruin even the simplest enjoyments in life was astonishing.

They must have looked like a right old pair, sitting there, quietly, in their booth and obstinately refusing to talk to one another.

‘Are you ready to talk about your interview?’ Ron said after another moment had passed.

‘No,’ Draco said, but his voice didn’t have its usual bite to it. ‘Maybe.’

‘I’m guessing it didn’t go as you hoped,’ Ron said.

Draco didn’t say anything. Ron feared he would erupt into a fit of anger, but instead, he eventually just sighed and said, ‘I don’t get it.’

Ron let him have the space to continue and didn’t say anything.

‘I tried my best to impress him. I explained all about the Vanishing Cabinets – leaving out any unnecessary details, of course,’ he added when he saw the incredulous look Ron gave him, ‘and I told him about my recommendations – O.W.L. inspector Gladstone is a family friend and always said I have talent. I wanted to show him my N.E.W.T. scores, but he said he wasn’t interested, and at first I thought it was because he was already convinced of my skills. But then he told me to leave before I even had a proper chance to demonstrate what I know.’

‘Why?’

‘He said he doesn’t need a Malfoy in his team. Apparently he thinks it could be trouble.’

His voice sounded bitter.

‘Well, it could have been worse,’ Ron said. ‘I mean, he rejected you for stupid, prejudiced reasons, not because you’re incompetent. It sucks, but at least you did nothing wrong.’

‘Up until then I didn’t. But after I had stood outside his office fuming for a full minute, I decided to go back and show him he had made a mistake. After I was thrown out the _second_ time, I tore the sign off his door that said his office hours were then, and tried to go in again to show it to him and needless to say, I’m not welcome at The Center for Magical Research anymore.’

His story put a funny vision into Ron’s head, but based on the look on Draco’s face, he wasn’t sure if it was the right moment to burst out laughing, so he held it just in case.

‘This is… hard for me. I’m trying to keep it together, but sometimes it’s just a lot,’ Draco said. There was something comical about his misery, but Ron could sense that his feelings were genuine.

‘I know.’

‘Why are you helping me, Weasley?’ Draco said. ‘I’m nothing but a nuisance. A nuisance and a failure.’

‘You’re not a failure,’ Ron said.

Suddenly Ron wasn’t convinced he knew what his motives for helping were.

‘I—’ he started.

‘Hey Malfoy,’ George said. He and Lee had returned before Ron had a chance to answer, and they took their seats across them in the booth. ‘We have an offer for you.’

His tone was business-like; Ron recognized it from the times he had visited Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

‘Ron here vouches you’re a good bloke – which I’m doubtful about – but ever since we expanded, we’ve been a little short on staff. We’d like to offer you a place on our sales team.’

Ron hadn’t expected George’s offer, and neither had Draco, by the looks of it. Ron watched Draco take in the suggestion, a flash of surprise, evaluation and concern, all in one quick sequence.

‘In the sales? Where everyone can see me?’

‘Look, if you’re going to turn down a perfectly good offer – the best you have under the circumstances – you’d have to be an idiot,’ Ron started.

‘At least let me work in the back,’ Draco interrupted, ignoring Ron. ‘I can help develop new products. I’m excellent at Charms and Potions.’

Ron thought about Draco’s words – he actually made a pretty good point. Ron looked at George and Lee expectantly, who seemed to be having some kind of wordless conversation as a response to Draco’s suggestion – at least based on the way their eyebrows were dancing up and down.

‘I don’t doubt that, but we need someone in sales,’ George said to Draco. ‘Start there, prove yourself useful and we’ll see what we can do.’

Draco didn’t look happy, but he didn’t press the matter further.

‘Thank you. I appreciate it, truly,’ he said. The snark was gone from his voice; he sounded more serious than what Ron had ever heard him.

George offered his hand across the table and Draco shook it solemnly.

‘Let’s celebrate. Drinks are on me tonight,’ George said.

At least now, Draco had the decency to look uncomfortable instead of dumping an onslaught of insults at Ron.

‘If it really makes you feel bad, I can take them out of your first paycheck,’ George said. ‘Now come on, Malfoy, let’s turn that misery-drinking into happy drinking.’

‘I think you actually mean saved-by-yet-another-Weasley-but-at-least-I-have-a-job-now-drinking,’ Draco muttered, but when a glass appeared in front of his face, he didn’t hesitate to take it.

*

They stumbled out of the Floo together into Ron’s living room. Draco’s arm lingered on Ron’s shoulder; he seemed to need help standing up. Draco really was a lightweight when it came to his liquor.

‘We still have to valiantly fight for who will get the bed tonight,’ Draco said. He broke free from Ron’s support and climbed onto the sofa to fetch the chess board, forgetting to use the wand that was sticking out of his pocket.

‘Really?’ Ron said. ‘You’re completely smashed and you want to play chess before bed?’

‘It’s an honorable tradition.’

‘An honorable tradition we’ve had for one night,’ Ron said. ‘But alright. I never say no to a chess match. Merlin knows all my friends are sick of playing with me.’

‘And Merlin knows I’m sick of… sleeping on the sofa,’ Draco said, his voice slurring.

Draco played surprisingly well for the first few minutes, cackling loudly every time he managed to overtake one of Ron’s pieces. But his focus started to slip after a while, and soon his pieces were yelling at him for his reckless sacrifices.

‘Hush, queenie,’ Draco said, leaning close to the little enraged piece on his board that was showing him the finger. ‘Don’t you worry. Master Draco’s got a plan.’

‘Check,’ Ron said. ‘I’d say it’s about time you start implementing that plan.’

‘All in good time, Weasley. You don’t know what’s coming for you.’ Draco moved one of his pieces, and Ron snorted at the dramatic, elaborate movement.

‘Checkmate,’ he responded.

‘What? When? How?’

‘You’re too drunk to play well. Of course I won,’ Ron said with a smug grin. He brushed the pieces back inside the little velvet bag that came with the kit, and closed it inside the chessboard.

‘Did you just take advantage of me? How very Slytherin of you!’ Draco exclaimed, oddly delighted at this piece of information.

‘Yeah, and now this big ol’ nasty Slytherin is going to help you not feel fucked tomorrow by giving you a Sober-Up Potion. Accio potion!’

‘Fucked? I didn’t know you were into me, but I certainly wouldn’t object to being thoroughly—’

‘Alright, that’s enough now, Draco,’ Ron said. He wasn’t sure what Draco would have said, but he had a feeling it wasn’t something he would ordinarily hear from him. ‘Drink up.’

Draco’s first name had just slipped out. He hoped Draco wouldn’t remember it when he was sober. He passed Draco the flask and watched him tip it against his lips. A drop rolled down his pointy chin, and Ron was momentarily distracted by just how fascinating it looked, until Draco wiped it on his sleeve.

‘Ugh, disgusting. I want to brush my teeth.’

The ordinary Draco had returned, and seemed to be in a less friendly mood than his inebriated self. Suddenly Ron felt that it wasn’t safe to be in his company any more, not with the thoughts he’d started having about him.

‘Give that over,’ Ron said. ‘I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink myself.’

Avoiding Draco’s gaze, he drank the remainder of the flask and in one, long gulp. When he was done, he slammed it down onto the table with a bit too much force, and still avoiding looking at Draco, made his escape up the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Malfoy, get up!’ a loud voice hollered in the room. Draco curled up tighter on the sofa and tugged the blanket up to his ears.

Thank Merlin Ron had shoved that sober-up potion down his throat when they got home last night, otherwise his yelling might have been enough to cause a severe throbbing in his head.

The sound of footsteps approached, and soon the sun flooding in from the living room window was blocked by a Ron-sized shadow.

‘What’s wrong with you? Besides everything, obviously,’ Draco groaned. ‘It’s Sunday. Sunday means sleeping in. Sunday does not mean loud yelling first thing in the morning.’

‘It’s already ten o’clock,’ Ron said, as if that explained everything. ‘There’s breakfast waiting for you, but before that, I’m going to show you how to do laundry. I usually just take it to Mum’s, but I figured here’s a chance to teach you another good life lesson.’

‘Life lesson at ten o’clock. What could be more delightful?’

Draco groaned again, but proceeded with the business of getting up. It wasn’t an easy task. Another night on the sofa was starting to take its toll on him despite all his ambitious efforts at making it more comfortable with Cushioning Spells. He got dressed in his least favourite cloak and dug out the few, precious clothing items that had been gathering wrinkles in his trunk.

Some moments later, he wandered into the kitchen, where Ron had laid out a metal basin and filled it with hot water and some clothes. 

‘Put them in,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two laundry potions, Gillyweed Grime-Removal and House-Elf’s Trusted Helper – how grimy are we feeling?’

‘I’m offended that you think my clothes deserve a grime removal. Put in that one,’ Draco said, pointing at the latter.

Ron poured it in, and then looked at Draco expectantly.

’So, now you just start scrubbing,’ Ron said briskly.

‘What? With my hands?’ Draco looked shocked. He stared into the bubbly water and felt close to being sick. ‘No. I refuse. I’ll rather keep casting Refreshment Charms on myself for forever. I won’t touch that water. It’s all… soapy. It’s disgusting. It’ll get dirty from the clothes. You can’t expect me to touch dirty water.’

Ron watched him emotionlessly for a moment, and then burst into laughter.

‘I’m kidding. You should have seen your face,’ Ron said. He cast a quick spell on the basin, and the laundry started to move itself in, large, swirling motions.

‘You were having me on?’

‘Of course I was,’ Ron said with a grin. ‘There’s a household spell for almost everything, if you just know what you’re doing.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Draco asked, still watching the spinning laundry, mesmerized.

‘Never underestimate the power of years of housework as a kid and Tom’s training at the Leaky,’ Ron said. ‘Say, you know what? The next time I visit home, I’ll grab you one of my Mum’s household spell books.’

‘I can’t believe you still let your Mum do your laundry for you.’

‘Says a man who didn’t lift as much as a finger when a household full of elves did everything for him.’

‘Touché,’ Draco said. ‘Now where’s this breakfast you were talking about? And I won’t say no to your disgusting, yet caffeinated, tea.’

*

‘I have to go to the Burrow for weekly family lunch,’ Ron said when Draco was finally having breakfast. He sat across Draco, reading the paper and having a second cup of tea. ‘And after that there’s work, so by the time I’m home, you might already be asleep.’

‘I supposed I’ll just sit at home and read your cookbooks… all day.’ Draco said.

The thought of spending the day alone made him feel surprisingly empty. Usually, he’d be occupied until lunch with various errands involved in managing the Manor, after which he’d have friends over for afternoon tea. It usually extended into dinner and drinks and Quidditch on the grounds if there were enough of them.

Draco thought wistfully about how it had felt to take his Firebolt Supreme out for a spin above the majestic woods that surrounded the Manor.

Ron stared at him for an uncomfortable second, and then gave a loud sigh.

‘You should just come with me,’ he said.

‘I couldn’t impose.’

‘Malfoy. You do _nothing_ but impose,’ Ron said. ‘If you come with me, it’ll save me from having to figure out what to feed you while I’m gone. The fridge is practically empty.’

*

For all the times Draco and his friends had come up with jeering stories about the way they assumed Weasley and his family lived, they hadn’t been so far from the truth.

The house they stood in front of could barely be called a house. It was more like a rickety shed, and looked like it had been added a new room to every time a child had been born into their ever-growing flock of redheads. Draco realized he had been gaping at it open-mouthed, and closed his mouth.

‘Whatever you’re thinking, keep it to yourself,’ Ron said, resolutely not looking him in the eye.

George was the one to open the door for them.

‘How’s your boy?’ he asked Ron.

‘He’s not _my_ boy, you wanker,’ Ron said. ‘And he’s right behind me. You can ask him yourself.’

‘Ah, time to meet the family, then!’ George said, making space for them to come in through the threshold. ‘So, how do you feel, Malfoy? Are you excited? Nervous?’

‘Shut… up,’ Ron whispered. ‘It’s mad enough to try to explain Malfoy’s presence to Mum and Dad as it is. I don’t need them assuming… things.’

‘Aww, embarrassed by me, are you, Weasley?’ Draco said.

‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ Ron said. ‘Very much so.’

‘I promise to make the most of it then,’ Draco said, enjoying the look of horror on Ron’s face.

He winked at George, who seemed to be having a hard job containing his amusement. Suddenly Draco had a feeling he was going to get along with his future employer just fine.

Molly Weasley appeared, wiping her hands on the faded apron she was wearing.

She had grayed out a little bit from what Draco remembered her, but she was still the plump, fussy, dowdy woman – the very picture of a bag lady – that Draco remembered seeing bustling about Diagon Alley with her numerous children.

‘Hello, Ron dear,’ she said, pulling her son into a loose hug.

When Molly saw who was behind his son, her mouth opened and let out a single, ‘Oh.’

‘This is Draco Malfoy. You may remember him from my school years for being the tosser who thought he owned the place and made Harry’s and my life miserable,’ Ron said, all in one, rushed sentence. ‘Sorry, I didn’t let you know beforehand. It was sort of a last-minute thing.’

‘Yes, I do remember you. You’re Narcissa and Lucius’s boy. Of course, I remember you,’ Molly said, looking dazed. If Draco didn’t know better, it sounded like she was straining to be polite.

Arthur appeared next to her. He offered Draco his hand and briskly shook it, but his expression was serious and evaluating. He looked Draco over with narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to make sense of some dream or hallucination.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, what on earth are you doing in my house?’ he said.

‘Do you want me to explain, or will you explain yourself?’ Ron said, looking at Draco.

‘It’s already becoming routine. I’m only… moderately ashamed. Like, on a scale from Flobberworm to Troll, I’m maybe at a Manticore,’ Draco said to him, aware that they were being watched curiously. Then, he turned to Ron’s parents and said, matter-of-factly, ‘I’m poor now. Your do-gooder son is helping me out by giving me a place to stay. Don’t I have friends who could help me? Yes, I do. But I don’t want them to know so don’t spread the word.

‘Besides, Ronald and I are steadily becoming friends,’ he added, just to torment Ron. And to take it a notch further, he slammed his arm around Ron’s neck like a proper lad.

Ron shook himself free of him, looking appalled.

‘Malfoy’s coming to work with us at the joke shop,’ George added helpfully.

‘Right, right…’ Arthur said, looking like he was mulling over all the information. ‘Well, Ron’s friends are of course welcome here.’

‘It’s a warm day, so we can have lunch outside,’ Molly said. ‘Ron, Draco, Levitate those plates, will you?’

She didn’t look Draco in the eye.

They did as they were told, making their way through the kitchen.

It left Draco feeling a strange mixture of fascination and disgust. Wonderful scents wafted from the stove into his nose, but he also couldn’t help but gawk at the amount of clutter that covered every surface. Well-used pots and pans hung from the walls, and there were at least twenty knitted doilies in faded colours in his view. To Draco’s horror, a dirty rag animatedly wiped the floor at his feet, and he jumped to the side.

There was a fair amount of household spells in motion, scrubbing and cleaning the grit off every nook and object, but despite all the effort that was clearly taken to maintain some sense of cleanliness, the kitchen still appeared shabby.

‘Will I have to live like this, now that I’m poor?’ he whispered to Ron.

‘Only if you decide to have seven children on your current budget,’ Ron retorted. His voice lacked humour.

At the table, Draco evaluated his choices and took the safest spot he could. He took the seat beside Percy Weasley, whom he vaguely remembered as being a fastidious prefect and a total bore – he could probably get by talking about the weather or something equally neutral for the duration of lunch.

Ron sat across him, but seemed happy to ignore him, talking instead with Potter and Granger, whatever the hell they were doing there.

Draco couldn’t stop his mind from generating its usual funny remarks about Potter’s lack of parents and choice to become an adoptive Weasley. He decided to exercise self-restraint and keep them inside. It wasn’t like he was in any place to mock Potter, when his situation wasn’t exactly different.

He yielded to politely nodding to Percy’s rambling about the latest quality reports of Britain’s Potions Lab’s condensation water, or whatever he was talking about. Draco had zoned out sometime after “self-filling report templates” and “concentration coefficients”.

The table was decked to the brim with food: dishes of steaming potatoes and buttered vegetables, jugs of thick gravy and a large roast sitting in the middle of it all, radiating a delicious scent around the table. There were pitchers of fresh pumpkin juice that reminded Draco of Hogwarts and brought a wave of nostalgia over him.

It was nothing like the delicate handwork of house-elves trained in French cuisine that Draco was used to in his former life, but it was hearty, substantial and utterly delicious. He could now understand where some of Ron’s cooking skills came from.

Being surrounded by the lively chatter and occasional jabs of annoyance also reminded him of Hogwarts. It was certainly different from Draco’s family lunches, where gathering with the whole family, as small as it was, had been a rare occurrence. Usually, it had been just Draco and his mother, since Lucius Malfoy had always liked to use lunch as an opportunity to butter up business associates.

Granger had looked like she had something to say to him for the last few minutes, but Draco had been careful to avoid eye contact with her. Now, she saw her chance when their eyes locked over the salad bowl.

‘How is the job hunt going? Did you hear back from the Charms professor?’ she said.

‘I did,’ Draco said, cursing himself for not thinking of a way to dodge the question.

‘Did you have a job interview?’ Percy said, his face lighting up. ‘I enjoy preparing for interviews. It never does one harm to be prepared even when one has a steady job like myself. I’ve sat in the Ministry’s Lab Inspector position for the past three years, so of course, I haven’t had to put myself out there on the job market—’

‘Yes, you mentioned. A few times, actually,’ Draco said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Luckily, Percy didn’t seem to notice.

‘—but nevertheless, I still like to keep my interview skills appropriately up to date by sometimes doing mock interviews to imaginary positions by myself.’

He gave a little, self-satisfied shrug of his shoulder, as if what he had said was the most whimsical thing he had ever heard.

‘That’s a good idea!’ said Granger, who apparently had the capacity to become even more annoying.

‘How was the interview?’ she continued. ‘You know, if I had thought you would get it, I could have helped you train for it a bit. I haven’t been in many interviews, but I’ve read extensively about the subject—’

‘Draco’s actually going to work with George at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,’ Ron interjected, putting Draco out of his misery.

Draco gave him a grateful look.

‘Oh,’ Granger said.

‘I still can’t believe George manages to make a proper living with that lunacy,’ Percy said, shaking his head.

Molly began to levitate plates and dishes off the table, and Potter and Ron got up to help.

‘I’m never going to get up from this chair,’ Draco declared, leaning back against the wooden rest. He rubbed his stomach in satisfaction. ‘That was wonderful, thank you.’

‘There’s still dessert,’ Molly said. She allowed him a little smile, which Draco considered a win.

Indeed, a large treacle tart was brought out after a moment, which Draco noticed Potter eyeing hungrily. Draco could feel his own appetite returning, too.

When he was handed a scalding cup of coffee and got the first whiff of the aroma he had desperately been missing, it almost brought tears of happiness to his eyes.

*

‘Is this what poor people do for fun?’ Draco said, curious.

They stood out in the orchard, which was small and unkempt like the rest of the house, and were helping Ron’s parents’ with the garden. Apparently, Sunday visits were just a way for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to put their kids to work.

‘No,’ Ron said. He grabbed another gnome and giving it a particularly violent twirl, sent it soaring fifty feet into the horizon.

Draco observed the receding, wriggling creature, and couldn’t help but think that Ron was perhaps mad about something. Draco wiped sweat off his forehead and brought his gaze back to the lumpy ground and unruly weeds, a sight that made him frown.

‘I can’t believe some people voluntarily touch dirt,’ Draco said.

‘I think it’s relaxing,’ Granger said. She was on her knees in a row of tulips, and was doing some weeding by hand, of all things.

‘I had to do too much of it when I was still living with the Dursleys. I’ve had enough of gardening for a lifetime,’ Potter said.

‘Agreed,’ Draco said.

‘What, you’ve tossed one gnome and you’re already tired?’ Potter said.

He had indeed tried his hand at de-gnoming after the relentless pressurizing from the Annoying Trio. The gnome had felt disgusting and squirmy to his hand, and the sight of its potato-like head and dirty feet had made Draco want to cast Scourgify on his eyes. It was all the gardening Draco ever wanted to experience. He was happy to leave taking care of the grounds to people that were paid to do it.

Draco ignored his words and proceeded to share an idea he had been thinking about.

‘You know, Weasley, you could start your own bar, maybe even a chain of bars, and you wouldn’t have to do any manual labour for the rest of your life,’ Draco said. ‘Except the weekly de-gnoming you seem to be so keen on.’

Ron paused his work and Potter and him shared a look.

‘You’re a natural at your job, I have to give you that, but you could be thinking about what to use your skills for and really go somewhere,’ Draco said.

‘I always suggested that!’ Granger said.

‘No, you didn’t. You always said you would never understand why I quit Auror training, and that I was going to end up regretting it,’ Ron said. It sounded like they had had the same conversation before.

‘Well, it all turned out well in the end,’ Granger said with a wrinkle of her nose that made Draco think she had wanted to say something altogether different. ‘I’m happy that you’re living the kind of life you want to live.’

Potter seemed uncomfortable seeing his friends squabble. He looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something.

‘I’m happy where I am,’ Ron said. ‘So stop making plans for me. You in particular, Malfoy.’

He didn’t look happy. It was the first time he had addressed him directly for a long time, Draco realized, if one didn’t count the grunts he had given as answers to his questions.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Ron said. He grabbed Draco by the arm and ushered him through the kitchen, up the rickety, creaking stairs.

*

Draco had to bow his head to get through the door, and once he was inside, he was left standing in an awkward, twisted way that made his back ache.

‘Look, I know my family and the way I grew up have always been a joke to you, but it’s actually something of a sore spot, and I’m sick of hearing about it,’ Ron said.

Draco tried to run through his memories of the past two hours and figure out what Ron was talking about. Maybe his words could have been taken in an offensive way without his knowledge – usually, Draco aspired to be aware of the moments he was hurting someone’s feelings, so that he could properly enjoy it.

His mind drew a blank, so after a minute of watching Ron’s face for any further clues, he just gave a little nod.

‘Is this your old room?’ Draco asked.

He didn’t need Ron to say anything to know the answer to be yes. They stood in silence for a moment, and Draco let his eyes wander around the room curiously.

The walls were covered in frayed posters in faded orange, depicting a changing set of players on brooms, some of which had stopped moving over time. There was a lovingly organized chocolate frog card collection on the small desk in the corner, which Draco could see had taken an impressive amount of chocolate-eating to get together.

Old books and magazines, likewise worn and torn in the corners, covered any free surface, leaving a distinct feeling of the whole room being stuck in a past time.

‘You know what, it’s kind of cosy. I’ll give you that,’ Draco said.

‘You hate it,’ Ron said.

‘Well… Yes. But there’s Quidditch posters on the walls. Who doesn’t like Quidditch?’

‘Did somebody say Quidditch?’ hollered a voice from the staircase. A second later, Ginny appeared at the door, beckoning at them. ‘What are you doing in there alone, snogging? Get your arses out here, it’s time for the traditional Sunday match.’

‘I have to leave for work!’ Ron said.

‘That’s your problem. Why’d you agree to do a Sunday shift anyway?’ Ginny said, glaring at him. ‘Good thing we have Malfoy here to replace you.’

When they appeared in the backyard, Ginny, Potter and George were waiting for them.

‘Are you ready to see if your flying skills amount to anything on a twenty-year-old Cleensweep?’ Ginny said. The broom she was holding looked at least twice as old, its handle chipped and its bristles sticking out at odd angles.

‘That’s a challenge I’m willing to take on,’ Draco said, catching the broom.

He meant it. He missed the feeling of freedom that only soaring through the air could bring, and it barely mattered what the broom was, as long as it kept him in the air.

Potter was mounting his old Firebolt that Draco recognized from school.

‘Scared, Malfoy?’ he said, smirking at him.

‘You wish,’ Draco said.

He was about to mount his broom, when he noticed that Ron had disappeared. Remembering their odd interaction from before, Draco frowned. He excused himself for a moment and went back into the house to see where Ron could have gone.

Ron was saying his goodbyes. Draco waited until he was about to exit the kitchen door before he stopped him. He wasn’t used to doing what he was about to do, but something nagged him.

‘Weasley,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for being a prick earlier, and for anything I might have said to make you uncomfortable.’

Ron stalled. It was obvious he was pondering the genuinity of Draco’s words.

‘You really have no idea, do you?’ he said finally.

Draco shrugged, and flashed him what he hoped was an apologetic smile.

‘You’re impossible, you know,’ Ron said, but he didn’t sound upset anymore. The exasperated look on his face could have almost been described as fond. ‘Apology accepted. Try to behave. I won’t judge my family if they decide to murder you while I’m gone.’


	6. Chapter 6

Ron rushed downstairs, having woken up to an unexpected owl from Hannah tapping on his bedroom window. He was in a hurry, but stopped abruptly when he saw that Draco was already up. Draco stood over the living room coffee table, oddly still, his face twisted into a horrified expression. The look was uncommon even for Draco, who, in Ron’s opinion, permanently looked like he had dung under his nose.

‘What’s up with you?’ Ron said. ‘You look like your pet ferret just died.’

‘It’s hideous,’ Draco said in a hollow voice.

‘What is?’

Draco nodded at the pile of fabric on the table, and when Ron kept looking at him questioningly, he took out his wand and levitated the cloth so that Ron could see it in all its glory.

Before his eyes stretched a set of robes, although it was difficult to make out their shape due to everything that was going on. If Ron had to describe the colour, he couldn’t – it was more like all neon colours had somehow been fused together. Flashing brightly one after another were messages in bold letters:

MY WORK ETHIC SHINES BRIGHTER THAN MY SILVERY-BLOND HAIR  
I WORK AT WWW AND ALL I GOT FOR IT ARE THESE ROBES  
THINKING OF A FUNNY PLOY? ASK ME, I’M A MALFOY!  
MY LIFE IS A SAD JOKE

Draco let his wand hand loosen and the robes fell back onto the table in a disordered pile.

‘Ah, I see. Your new work uniform,’ Ron said. Draco looked depressed.

‘They can't expect me to wear… that,’ Draco said. ‘I don’t even know what _that_ is. It certainly isn’t robes. If Loony Lovegood and Dobby the house-elf had a child, I bet it would look something like that.’

‘I like it. It’s a statement piece. Really brings out your sickly, pale skin, mate,’ Ron said in an amused voice.

‘I’ve never seen anything so disgusting in my life, and I’ve seen you in your dress robes.’

‘You clearly don’t know the first thing about George Weasley,’ Ron said, rolling his eyes. He took out his wand.

He tapped the lump of fabric on the table with his wand and it transformed itself into ordinary, magenta robes.

‘Still hideous, but I’ll take it,’ Draco said. He grabbed the robes and stormed up the stairs. After a moment, Ron heard the click of the bathroom door being locked.

As if awoken from a trance, he remembered that he was in a hurry again, and started stuffing various things he needed into his bag.

Draco returned just as he was putting on his coat. He stood in the living room, stiff and awkward like a mannequin, and looked at Ron expectantly.

‘You look… pale,’ Ron said. _Good_ , he had almost said. The robes, despite their loud colour, were well-fitting and accentuated his lean frame. He wondered how Draco would have reacted if he had let that one slip.

‘Of course I look pale. It’s the most obnoxious colour in the universe,’ Draco huffed. Then, he sighed. ‘Dear Merlin, what am I getting myself into?’

‘Welcome to adulthood,’ Ron said. At an impulse, he gave Draco a little pat on the top of his head and Draco cringed.

Ron fastened his cloak and stepped into the Floo.

‘I’m in a hurry. Hannah is sick, and I have to take care of the morning shift today. I don’t have time for breakfast, but you’ll sort yourself out, yeah?’

‘But, I need you to prepare me for my first day at work,’ Draco said. A look of genuine alarm flashed on his face, mixed in with his pathetic pout.

‘You’ll do fine,’ Ron said. ‘Just don’t let George and Lee mess with you too much.’

*

Ron found himself distracted and unfocused at work – as had seemed to be the case more and more often ever since Draco had moved in with him.

Among serving breakfast platters to guests, he wondered how Draco’s work day was going; if George was giving him a difficult time, or – Ron thought, amused – if Draco was making George’s life difficult.

Another part of him was busy ignoring an uncomfortable realization he had started becoming aware of.

It was only… logical that he would start to develop some sort of attraction towards Malfoy.

The git was loud and annoying and thought he was entitled to everything, but he was also funny and had surprised Ron with his ability to respond to his current troubles. And he was rather good-looking, if one ignored the pointiness and the occasional sneer.

It was just an attraction, nothing else. There was no need to panic. He would just keep acting normally, as he had done so far, and it would pass in a couple of days, no doubt. Draco _was_ an infuriating git, after all.

Ron’s attention went to the door as he heard the familiar jingle of the bell.

A woman wearing a stylish cloak and killer stilettos walked in, causing some eyes to turn. She wasn’t by any means their usual sort of customer, although a fair amount of variety passed through Leaky’s doors. She raised her expensive-looking sunglasses from her eyes, revealing sharp eyes and a familiar pug nose.

‘Well, well… isn’t this a quaint little spot?’ Pansy Parkinson said, observing the room around her. Her eyes lingered on the corner near the other door, where one of their usuals belched a bubble of his fourth Rogue Rascal out. She wrinkled her nose and looked away.

She was followed by a large man who was dangling several shopping bags off his arms. Ron wondered for a moment if it was her husband – he didn’t know if Parkinson was married or not (although he suspected the latter, since it would take a lot to put up with that nasal whining) – but as the door closed behind them and they were engulfed in the warm shadows of Leaky, Ron recognized him to be Goyle.

Pansy spotted Ron and marched to the bar.

‘Weasley! Fancy seeing you here,’ she said, looking delighted. Her eyes shined in mean amusement, which made Ron wonder if she had experienced any personal growth since Hogwarts days.

‘Parkinson,’ Ron said, changing to his professional voice. ‘How are you?’

‘I’ve been buying meaning into my empty, boring life, as usual. How do you like my new earrings? Pretty, aren’t they? Cost a cute knut as well,’ Pansy said and took a seat at the bar.

‘Wouldn’t they be even prettier if you left the price tags dangling?’ Ron quipped back.

‘We’ve been shopping all day. I had to bring my second favourite boy-toy with me, but he’s useless at giving comments about anything I buy, _and_ doesn’t give constant funny commentary about the people we pass either,’ Pansy said. She nodded at the man next to him. ‘But, he’s quite the competent bag rack.’

There had never been any love lost between him and Goyle at school, but right now, Ron could feel a certain kinship towards the person stuck with Pansy Parkinson and twenty shopping bags. Goyle, however, seemed used to his lot. With surprising calm and grace, he undecked himself of bags and took the seat beside Pansy.

‘Now he’s demanding that we eat some proper chips before heading off, and I suppose I owe him that,’ Pansy said, never ceasing her chattering. ‘This is the only place on earth I could think of that would offer something so common as that.’

‘Well deduced,’ Ron said dryly.

Ron thought of telling them about the magical chippy that was just two streets down from Diagon Alley, but then thought otherwise. As nice as it would have been to let the green flames of the Floo engulf them, he was also curious if they would have anything interesting to say about Draco.

He took their lunch order and made himself look busy around the bar.

‘So, who’s your favourite boy-toy then?’ he asked Pansy, trying to keep a casual and uninterested look about him. He was stacking glasses that had come from the wash near the tap.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well, you mentioned your second favourite a moment ago, and I’m a bartender, so the only things I do are talk and make people drink.’

‘Make me drink, then. I don’t feel like talking,’ Pansy said, giving him a snooty look. ‘What would go well with those abominable chips?’

‘Well, if you want to go for the true commoner experience, I could always get you a nice, cold beer,’ Ron said. ‘We’ve got a few specialties on the menu that I can recommend.’

He could see that there was at least one customer who was interested in his offer. At the mention of beer, Goyle looked like a starved dog thirsting for a bone.

Once his customers had refreshing pints and steaming plates of chips covered in Tom’s famous mystery sauce in front of them, Ron busied himself by clearing away dishes and wiping tables. He started with the ones farthest away, strategising quickly that if he made his way steadily towards his targets at the bar, by the time they were well-fed, relaxed and talking, he would be in their vicinity. Ron remembered the numerous times he, Harry and Hermione had tagged Slytherins on their adventures – old habits really did die hard.

Just as he had assumed, Pansy and Goyle took their time eating and chatting about various nonsense. At some point, Pansy looked over her shoulder, and Ron quickly turned to scrubbing a nonexistent spot with vigour.

She spoke in a hushed voice, but thank Merlin for her nasal tone and inability to not make a scene, Ron could hear bits and pieces from where he was stationed.

‘Have you tried to write to Draco?’

‘I find writing difficult, Pans,’ Goyle said. ‘You know that.’

‘Well, he never responded to my letter. I tried to go round the Manor again yesterday, and it was bizarrely quiet. It was like no-one was there, not even a house-elf,’ Pansy continued. ‘And Blaise tried to Floo him the other day, but apparently his Floo connection had been discontinued. I don’t know if it’s temporary or not. Maybe he just left on a holiday and forgot to tell any of us.’

‘That doesn’t sound like Draco,’ Goyle said. ‘He never stops bragging about his holidays.’

*

Ron returned home with a package under his arm, feeling distinctly self-conscious. He had made the purchase spontaneously when he saw it at the store where he did his grocery shopping. It was untypical of him to just buy something; usually Ron thought things through with more time. He placed the package onto the coffee table in the living room, and Draco propped himself up an inch from where he had been slumped on the sofa.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ Draco said, his eyes brightening before Ron’s eyes.

‘Yes,’ Ron answered. ‘I figured I should have a coffee maker in case I ever have guests who prefer coffee to tea.’

It had nothing to do with Draco’s well-being, nothing at all, Ron told himself. He could feel the back of his neck prickle in embarrassment, and avoided Draco’s eyes.

‘Finally! I could hug you right now,’ Draco said. ‘I would too, if it didn’t require getting up from this sofa, which I might as well be stuck to with a Sticking Charm, because I’m never going to be able to get up from here.’

‘Rough day?’ Ron asked.

‘The roughest,’ Draco said with such conviction, that it made Ron think of an eleven-year-old after his first day in Snape’s class. ‘George and Lee made me try out half the products in the store, so that I would actually have some sort of idea of what I’m talking about when I sell them to customers. So, I spent most of the day smelling disgusting things and suffering from various ailments. I’ve taken three Blood-Replenishing Potions today. My last nosebleed dried out half an hour ago. Your brother is a maniac. I’m still not convinced this is a real job and not just some ruse to humiliate me.’

‘That does sound rough,’ Ron said, chuckling. ‘But did you have fun? Did you learn anything new?’

‘Lee showed me how the cash register works, and it was a funny little machine,’ Draco said. ‘And I made my first sale. A little girl came in for a Headless Hat, but I got her to buy an additional product because of my excellent sales pitch—’ he continued with an unnatural, childish voice, ‘You know who might need some U-No-Poo? _You_ do!’

‘Ha, very funny,’ Ron said. He motioned at Draco to get up. ‘Get your arse up, I want you to help me cook dinner.’

‘Do I have to?’ Draco moaned. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but can’t we eat leftovers?’

‘You’ll like what I brought,’ Ron said.

Draco rolled off the sofa, and dusted his robes. He had changed from his work robes into a more casual, dark-green setup, but Ron still found it funny that he’d prefer robes to something more comfortable.

Despite his previous grumbling, once he was up and had made his way into the kitchen, Draco started to rummage through Ron’s shopping bags with some interest.

‘Beef tenderloin… and a bottle of red. If I didn’t know better, I would almost think you’re trying to impress someone, Weasley,’ Draco said with a grin.

Ron felt his face heat up.

‘I just thought we’d celebrate your first day of work. But if you really want to scout the freezer for leftovers, you can be my guest.’

‘I am your guest,’ Draco was quick to respond.

‘Yes, and you’re also weird. I wonder how I never noticed how weird you are,’ Ron said, shaking his head. He took out the chopping board and took his time choosing a suitable knife from the knife rack.

‘You were too busy noticing how devastatingly gorgeous I am,’ Draco said.

‘Oh please,’ Ron said at a loss of a better response.

He got Draco started on the chopping and started making the sauce. It was a family recipe, one his mother usually saved for fancier occasions. Ron hadn’t made it before himself, but had helped out on plenty of occasions to know his way.

‘You might want to explain to Parkinson what’s going on,’ he said to Draco. ‘I saw her today, and overheard her talking to Goyle about how you’ve gone missing.’

‘You didn’t tell her anything, did you?’ Draco said. He stopped chopping, and for a second, looked worried.

‘Of course not. But you should respond to her letter, if you don’t want her going to the Aurors. She seemed genuinely worried,’ Ron said. ‘You can borrow Pig. He’s always around somewhere, and usually comes when I call, although he spends an awful lot of time chasing mice around the neighborhood.’

Ron’s sauce started to bubble over as he talked, and a bit dribbled onto the stove. Ron turned the temperature down, and Draco was quick to blast the stove a suitable household spell – a modified Scouring Charm – and it vanished almost as soon as it had appeared.

‘Nice one,’ Ron said, genuinely impressed. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember so quickly.’

‘I wasn’t born yesterday,’ Draco said.

‘You literally learned that spell yesterday, though,’ Ron pointed out.

Draco did a little one-shoulder shrug, and looked pleased with himself.

Ron had always hated how Draco had walked around the world with an unearned confidence. But now, seeing the way his eyes shined from excitement as he applied his new-learnt skills, his confidence was maddening in a completely different way.

In an _attractive_ way.

And perhaps signs of it had been there before, but for the first time Ron started to wonder if perhaps, despite his prickliness and constant insults, Draco was also flirting with him.

The thought of it caused warmth to pool down in Ron’s stomach. As if confirming his thoughts, Draco reached for the salt, and brushed Ron’s arm as he did so. The gesture was casual, but had to be intentional, right? Maybe he was testing Ron to see if _he_ was interested in Draco. Just in case, Ron took a step to the side, leaving a cold gap between them.

It was only now that he realized how closely they had been standing up until then.

 _Normal, Ron_ , he thought to himself. _Just act normal._


	7. Chapter 7

Draco watched with satisfaction as a group of children left the store, the door jingling as they disappeared back to the bustling street. Due to his burgeoning sales techniques, their bags were much heavier than when they arrived, full of prank wands, firecrackers and Durable Dungbombs.

‘Nice job, Malfoy,’ Lee said, giving him a pat on the back with his bear-like arm.

If there was something Malfoys were good at, it was spotting opportunities. What he did wasn’t manipulation, it was optimization.

‘I have a system,’ Draco explained. ‘Anyone who looks like a Slytherin, I offer them something to prank their enemies with. Gryffindors I give whatever makes the loudest noise – right now it’s your Ear-Exploding Explosives – and anyone who looks like a Hufflepuff, I just give some Dragon-Roasted Nuts or Fizzy Juice, because Hufflepuffs are all about the snacks.’

‘What about Ravenclaws?’

‘Oh, Ravenclaws don’t like pranks,’ Draco said. ‘If a Ravenclaw happens to wander in, I just shove them some Skiving Snackboxes, because they’re probably just here to find a way to get more time to study for an exam.’

Lee nodded in approval. ‘I like the way you think, Malfoy. I can take over from here. You go off and enjoy your first Friday as a working man.’

Changing out of his work uniform, he reflected on the past few days. Overall, he was very satisfied with his first week, as tiring as it had been.

He already had some ideas for future products, some of them inspired by his horrible first encounter with his work uniform. It had given him an idea for a whole range of products: fake Hogwarts ties that changed colour with a tap (perfect for pranking substitute professors), self-staining clothes to aggravate the neurotic parent and dress robes that turned into night clothes to lighten the mood at a classy party.

He was a bit of a pioneer, really, when it came to accessories that changed with a tap. Draco’s thoughts went to his Potter Stinks badges fondly.

‘Let’s have a meeting next week, trainee,’ George said, when Draco approached him in his office. ‘I’m interested in hearing your ideas.’

He handed Draco a small bag that felt wonderfully heavy to his hand. Draco was tempted to open it that instant to count that he had been paid what he was due, but waited until he was outside the shop to peek inside. It had been several long, precious days since he had last touched money.

These were the first coins he had made for himself by real, honest work. He couldn't say that he cared one way or the other about the honest part, but it certainly felt good to have one’s work manifest in real, tangible prosperity.

*

Draco spotted a head of flaming, red hair behind the bar and cut through the crowd of early customers. He took a seat at the bar and made himself comfortable.

Ron was wearing a casual, black, dress shirt with the gold-embroidered logo of the Ghoul – an elaborate picture that reminded Draco of an obscure band. He was clearly in his element, serving drinks left and right and using his shakers, strainers and spoons in a skillful, effortless way.

He noticed Draco and gave him a little shake of his head, but didn’t pause his work.

‘I'd like to order a drink,’ Draco said. ‘Let’s see what you’re made of. Make me something special, something you think I'd like.’

‘You know I’ll have to charge you full price, don’t you?’ Ron said, flashing him a little look that bordered amusement and disbelief.

‘I can afford it,’ Draco said, jingling his money purse at him.

‘Yes, well, you’re not paying rent either,’ Ron muttered in a voice that Draco barely heard.

‘Stop being so depressing, Weasley. And prepare to drink up, I’m going to buy you one of those whatchamacallits you always go on about.’

‘You mean one of Kraken Kiss’s spruce sours?’ Ron said. ‘Just wait until I’ve gotten out of uniform. Rob? Can you take over?’

Draco watched him finish making his drink, pouring liquids from mysterious bottles into an old-fashioned lowball glass and finishing it off with some ice. He passed it to Draco, and wiped his hands on a nearby cloth.

Draco followed him with his eyes as he disappeared through the swinging door behind the bar. Ron’s trousers hugged his arse in a way that made Draco suspect he still played more than the occasional Quidditch match at the Burrow, and he shamelessly enjoyed the view, deciding that tonight was not a night to hold back on any enjoyments.

Draco leaned on the bar feeling warm and happy for the first time in a while. His drink tickled pleasantly in his throat; the Pepper-Maple Whisky he was sipping on gave him a nice buzz, but mostly, he was high on the fact that he had made it through his first-ever work week.

When Ron returned, Draco had an ice-cold beer waiting for him, and he was ready to make his proposition.

‘I want to take you out.’

As he suspected he would, Ron flushed red at his words. Draco had chosen his words deliberately to maximise his embarrassment, as was his special talent.

‘What do you mean?’ Ron stammered.

‘Out. Clubbing,’ Draco said. ‘You seem much too comfortable in your pub-dwelling life. It’s time to get you out of your comfort zone, for a change. I haven’t been out to dance for ages.’

Ron turned a little green at the word dance.

‘There’s no changing your mind, is there?’ Ron said.

Draco flashed an unapologetic grin at him and shook his head for no.

‘I need to be more drunk for dancing to happen,’ Ron said, motioning at the bar. ‘Oi Rob, two shots of Dementor’s Kiss.’

*

Four or five drinks in, and their adventure had progressed through another nearby pub and a rather interesting trip on the Knight Bus to the other side of London.

Taking the Knight Bus across London was definitely an experience he never wanted to repeat – as Draco had always suspected, there was a reason he wanted to remain above the income level that could afford a private Portkey when they felt like it.

He had chosen one of his less-frequented going-out spots, The Devil’s Snare – a small but classy nightclub with a selective, but not _too selective_ clientele. Draco was hoping they wouldn’t run into anyone he knew, although after the strong, Goblin wine spritzer he had just ordered, he was starting to care less.

He kept the drinks coming, aware but unconcerned that his small budget was quickly dwindling away. Draco enjoyed the feeling of power after being stripped of his agency in the world for so long. He wanted to pay Ron back for his hospitality and make them even again. Then, maybe, once they were on an equal footing again, he could let the impulses he had started to have around him take over.

He was feeling… hopeful.

After all, Ron had chosen to spend his Friday night with him and not his other friends, even though they already saw plenty of each other at home. He had started feeling oddly possessive of him.

Draco watched as a dribble of beer ran down Ron’s chin and disappeared into his beard. He felt an irresistible urge to lick it off. That damn beard had been driving Draco half mad. He had caught himself off guard on so many occasions, wondering if it would feel soft or prickly against his chin if he kissed him.

He escaped for a smoke, seeing an opportunity to bum a cigarette as a Hufflepuff-looking fellow with a packet of smokes passed them.

When Draco returned, Ron was talking to a talk, dark man at the bar. The man leaned onto the bar counter, and seemed to be buying Ron a drink.

No… It was not good. It was bad. In an impulse, Draco grabbed the drink from the man and waved dismissively. ‘I’ll be taking that. Now, shoo. Go on, then.’

The man backed away, looking confused.

‘Why’d you do that? He was nice,’ Ron said. ‘We were talking about Quidditch. He asked if the Cannons were planning to score tonight. Although, now that I think of it, there isn’t even a match tonight, which is a bit odd, and he kept saying “my Cannons” instead of “the Cannons”.’

‘Weasley, oh Weasley…’

‘What?’ Ron said.

‘Nothing. Just that you have a lot to learn about the world,’ Draco said. ‘Come dance with me.’

He left the drink on a nearby stand and grabbed Ron by the arm. He led him to the dancefloor, pushing through the swaying crowd to find a nook where they could have at least a little bit of space for themselves. They were immediately drawn into the rhythmic beating of the base, adding their own energies to the ecstatic energy of the crowd. As in any proper Wizarding nightclub, dancing fairy lights buzzed above the crowd in glistening shades of neon.

Draco had missed this. The feeling of freedom clubbing gave him had been an important part of his journey to becoming the post-war Draco Malfoy he was now. It had helped him then with the stress and trauma, and now, as he surrendered to the dancing, he could feel the ball of tension that had been nested into his body ever since everything went wrong start to untangle.

Ron had seemed to be opposed to dancing while they had still been at the Ghoul, but didn’t have any such reservations anymore. He swung to the music with his eyes closed, occasionally opening them slightly to look at Draco in what Draco could only describe to be a dreamy way.

Maybe they were just drunk eyes, but Draco certainly didn’t mind being looked at like that.

The crowd circled in on them, and someone nearby pushed Draco closer to Ron. Ron’s fast grip on his arms was the only thing that kept him from crashing into him completely.

Suddenly they were dancing face to face. Ron’s eyes that were wide open now and staring into his. Draco was aware of every lash and every freckle, discoloured under the flashing blue lights. Ron’s shirt was ticking his waist in an unbearable way.

 _Fuck it_ , Draco thought.

Fuck paying him back before doing anything with Ron. Draco was going to kiss him now. He leaned forwards – Ron's lips curved into a little smile—

‘Draco?’

Draco heard a vaguely familiar voice in his ear.

He recognized Malcolm Baddock. He had been one of the Slytherins below Draco’s year at Hogwarts. His family was one of the many old, pureblood families Draco was used to doing business with, and Draco had generally maintained a polite relationship with him despite having nothing in common with him.

‘I haven’t seen you in a while!’ he said. Draco could barely make out his voice over the loud base. ‘You weren’t at the last quarterly meeting, and we thought you had some business to attend to abroad.’

He seemed to notice Ron and turned to Draco with a puzzled look. ‘Is that Ron Weasley?’

‘I can’t hear you!’ Draco mouthed at him, deciding he was absolutely not going to address the situation.

The warm tingling he had experienced a moment ago had transformed into a cold anxiety, deepened by all the alcohol in his blood.

‘Let’s go,’ he said to Ron, who seemed to have been oblivious to anything. Grabbing his arm, he led them away from Baddock and towards the nearest Apparition spot. The risk of splinching felt like a minor price to pay when he just wanted to get home as soon as possible.

*

‘What’re you doing here?’ Ron said.

He lay in bed in his boxers, bathing in the blue moonlight like a drunken adonis. Draco hadn’t bothered with a Lumos – besides, his wand lay somewhere forgotten after their partying had continued at home.

Draco let his eyes run over his body hungrily as he climbed into the bed.

‘Couldn’t sleep on the sofa. It’s too short for me. My feet got cold,’ he said.

‘Haven’t you heard of Transfer… Transfigging… Transfiguration Charms?’ Ron said. ‘You can make the sofa longer, you know.’

His knowledgeable voice and eyes, half-asleep, made a funny contrast.

‘Oh, like you did every time it was your turn to sleep on the sofa?’ Draco reminded. Any time he had passed the living room when Ron had lost their chess match, his feet had been sticking out off the end in a painfully familiar way.

‘It's very complicated magic,’ Ron slurred.

‘There’s plenty of space for both of us in your bed,’ Draco said. ‘Give us some blanket. And you need more pillows. How can anyone sleep with just one pillow?’

He tugged on Ron’s too-small blanket and pulled the majority of it over him, snuggling in the pleasant warmth. He hadn’t lied when he said he was cold, and Ron’s body heat was better than a poorly cast Warming Charm.

Maybe it was the remaining Goblin wine and whisky in his system, maybe it was late-night sentimentality, but Draco wondered if now was a good time to address what was clearly a mutual attraction.

‘Weasley?’ he murmured against Ron’s neck.

‘Mnn?’

Ron’s response was barely a moan, but at least a part of him seemed to respond to Draco’s voice. He leaned back, curling up against him. Tentatively, Draco wrapped an arm around him.

The next thing Draco heard was a quiet snore.

No conversation, then. He could feel his eyelids get heavy too; it was a miracle that he had made it this far – well, a miracle, and caffeinated mixers. He let out a long yawn, and feeling all the tension leave from his body, he sank into the mattress.

‘Goodnight, Weasley,’ he muttered, and let Ron’s breathing lull him into a heavy sleep.

*

Draco woke up to a loud groan. The spot of pale white light flooding in from the window told him it was at least late morning. It was luckily not very bright, but it was unwelcome nonetheless. A disoriented second later, he realized that the one groaning had been himself. His head felt like it had been hit by a million Bludgers.

The rest of him wasn’t doing so well, either. His mouth could have been a suitable habitat for a desert rat, both based on the sticky dryness and the deadly aromas of ten drinks too many.

‘Ugh,’ he said aloud.

He untangled himself from Ron, whose pungent breath had been hitting his face.

His red locks fell softly onto his face, giving Draco the urge to run his fingers through them. Weasley looked infuriatingly adorable asleep.

Draco’s body was still charged with the sexual frustration that had been building up all week, but now in broad daylight he was almost grateful nothing had happened the night before.

Almost.

Ron’s eyes fluttered open, and then shut again. Draco couldn’t help but feel a bit of malicious mirth at the way his face twisted into a painful wince.

‘I feel like shit,’ Ron said, finally blinking his eyes open.

‘You look like shit too,’ Draco said, grinning at the look of suffering on his face. ‘And your feet are like icicles. Haven’t you ever heard of socks?’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of not hijacking people's beds when it's not even your turn and stealing the blanket, too.’

‘We didn't play a chess match yesterday, so I figured it was fair game,’ Draco said smoothly.

‘I’ll show you fair game,’ Ron said, and a second later Draco could feel cold feet crawling up his shin.

‘Hey, stop it!’ he said. He kicked Ron’s foot away, and Ron let out a surprised yelp.

‘So, this is the kind of game you’re playing…’ Ron replied and kicked Draco back.

Draco was one step ahead of him. He rolled to the side and snuck in another kick to the spot where Ron had barely missed him, causing Ron to curse out loud.

Draco could sense the excitement between growing with every contact. With every brush of skin and every mock wrestling grip, Draco felt a jolt of arousal straight in his groin.

Draco found himself pinned underneath Ron, held by the strong grip of his muscles.

The energy between them crackled. Draco could see his arousal mirrored in Ron’s eyes. He narrowed his eyes in challenge, inviting Ron to do something, anything.

But Ron rolled off him, looking resolutely away from his face.

‘I’ll, er, get started on breakfast,’ he said somewhat breathlessly.

He started to get up from the bed.

‘I feel disgusting. I’m going to go take a shower,’ Draco said.

‘Sausages and eggs?’ Ron asked.

 _I’d like to feast on your sausage and eggs_ , Draco’s brain submitted unhelpfully. ‘Yeah, whatever. Anything.’

Ron left, and Draco finally felt confident enough to roll out of bed. It didn’t matter that Ron was probably sporting an equally persistent hard-on; Draco would be damned if he approached Ron again, when they had apparently mutually decided to not talk about it.

*

The first thing Draco saw when he came downstairs was “FERRET + WEASEL” scratched onto the coffee table with a badly executed Severing Charm. Draco had no recollection of carving it, but his wand was underneath the table was proof that he had likely gotten up to some shenanigans when they had come home from the club.

Based on the empty and half-drunk bottles splayed on the floor and table, they had had quite the party. Draco picked up his wand, flashes from the night before returning to his mind. He had hazy memories of stumbling in through the front door and heading straight (or as straight as was possible in the condition they were in) for Ron’s liquor cabinet.

The kitchen could have been in an equal state of mess, but Ron had already put some cleaning spells in motion.

Ron looked a little embarrassed when Draco entered the kitchen. Draco smirked at the blush on his face; it took him a moment to notice from his awkward body language that something was in fact bothering him.

‘You might want to look at this,’ he said, and handed Draco the newspaper.

_  
DRACO MALFOY – FROM RICHES TO RAGS?_

_Many have questioned Draco Malfoy’s right to happiness and fortune after the unforgivable and deadly choices of his family during the Second Wizarding War. But now, anyone who has had such thoughts can put their rightful envy and disbelief aside, because Malfoy has finally fallen from grace._

_Being poor has not been easy for the filthy rich ex-Death Eater known for his lavish lifestyle, writes Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter. Malfoy has been sighted ‘going to the supermarket, like an ordinary person’ and getting drunk in a common pub._

_‘As someone who used to do business with the Malfoys, I’m worried,’ says an anonymous source. ‘And I would say that anyone who is expecting money from him should be as well. Because based on the company he keeps these days, Draco Malfoy isn’t rising from his lowly new life anytime soon.’_

_He confirms that our favourite bad boy has indeed been spotted in the company of Ron Weasley, a war-hero and bartender known for being school mates with Harry Potter (read all about Potter’s unfortunate choice of dress robes on page 15). It is left for the reader to speculate whether this new friendship is legitimate, or just Malfoy’s way of ensuring his safety in the event that his former friends and associates have a less-than-friendly response to his new social status._

_Because regardless of what the next chapters are for our controversial anti-hero, his cloak-turning is bound to ruffle some feathers.  
_

Draco could feel the colour drain from his face. His wand fell to the floor with a clatter and the paper followed right after, pages spreading around the floor in a mess.

‘I’m glad I didn’t give you your cup of coffee yet,’ Ron said dryly, staring at the mess.

‘What does she mean happiness? My parents died after the war!’ he said. ‘I can’t believe that cow would turn against me after all the times I helped her.’

‘After all the lies you fed her about Harry ten years ago, you mean?’

‘Yes!’ Draco said. ‘We made a pact!’

‘I’m sorry a terrible journalist lady isn’t holding onto her promise to a fifteen-year-old boy,’ Ron said, still attempting some kind of humour, ‘but we both knew your situation would become public at some point. You should just talk to your friends. I’m sure they’re worried about you.’

Draco saw the faces of his friends – Pansy drinking in the drama of it all before understanding how it would affect her – Blaise shaking his head, a serious line appearing between his brow as the only indication of just how upset with Draco he was – Greg, shocked at the thought that Draco could crumble, his mouth taking that pout that it did when something was beyond his comprehension. Their faces blended in with the mass of shocked and angry faces he could imagine reading their paper this morning.

‘It’s all your fault,’ said Draco. ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.’

‘What? You’re the one who came here and demanded I help you get your life together,’ Ron said, an angry blush appearing on his cheeks.

‘Well, much good it has done me!’ Draco said. ‘It was probably Potter or Granger or someone in your stupid family, who opened their mouth and leaked it to the press.’

‘It was probably your friend from the club yesterday,’ Ron snapped back. ‘Besides, you’ve been working in Diagon Alley for a week! How long did you think you could keep things from the public?’

Draco had almost forgotten about Baddock. Ron was probably right, but any voice of reason inside Draco that tried to agree with him was extinguished by his much louder agitation.

‘I don’t know!’ he shouted. ‘I should have just left the country!’

‘What, hijacked a Portkey and wandered around a strange city with no money?’

‘Yes! Anything except this!’ he said, before he could really think about his words. ‘I’m sick of living this crummy life in your small apartment. I'm sick of feeling like I have to earn every little thing. I’m sick of learning to be happy with a substandard life! What have I got to show for all this time? I’ve learned to cast some cleaning spells. I know how to sell joke products to kids. I know how to boil an egg!’

‘And I say you’re a better person for it!’ Ron yelled. His angry blush rivalled the red of his hair.

Draco wasn’t listening anymore. The sick feeling inside of him had risen to excruciating levels.

Unable to bear it, he turned on his heels and ran out of the house.


	8. Chapter 8

The first feeling that Ron felt when Draco stormed out of the front door was a strong surge of anger, but it faded almost as soon as it had appeared. It was replaced by a strange emptiness— an emptiness and a worry. Ron couldn’t help it, he was worried about the git.

He had absolutely no idea where Draco could have gone. Based on his reaction, Draco was in no state to make rational choices. Ron’s mind supplied a nightmarish image of Draco acting true to his words and breaking into the Department of Magical Transportation to steal a Portkey, only to be walked out cuffed by a group of Aurors.

Then Ron noticed the wand on the floor, peeking out from underneath the scattered sheets of newspaper.

 _Shit_. Draco could not have made it far without his wand. By now it was too late to go after him; he would have already made it out of the neighborhood, and Ron could only guess at the direction.

He heard a pounding at his door, and his heart started beating louder for a hopeful second.

‘What is the meaning of this, Weasley?’

It was Parkinson. She had the morning’s paper in her hand and shoved it into his face with her expensively manicured fingers the moment he opened the door.

Blaise Zabini stood behind her. He was less animatedly upset than Parkinson, but the look on his face was definitely grim. He was tapping his wand in a quiet message that was undoubtedly meant to communicate: ‘one wrong word and I won’t hesitate to use it’.

‘I already suspected you were involved somehow when I got that absurd letter from Draco, and this article by Skeeter just proves it,’ she said, taking a furious step forward. She looked one move away from grabbing him by the collar.

‘Show him the letter you received a few days ago,’ Blaise said.

‘Look,’ Pansy said, pulling out a short piece of parchment from her cloak.

Ron took the letter and glared at her to get off his skin so that he would have the chance to read it in piece, but Pansy didn’t take the hint, instead trying her best to peek over his tall shoulder.

_  
Dear Pansy,_

_The winds between England and France are strong, so I’ve only just received your letter. I expect it will be a few days until you receive my response._

_Urgent business has called me to France and I had to leave before I could say goodbye. (And before you say anything, NO, I’m not going there to meet_ him _.)_

_I’ve never been better. In fact, I might stay here for a while. Doing important, money-making business things, of course._

_Yours, in excellent health and spirit,_  
Draco  


‘I knew something was off when I received this. If I’ve ever prided myself on anything, it’s my ability to smell bullshit,’ Pansy said. ‘Not only is it ridiculously obvious that he’s lying – Draco couldn’t lie to save his life, not even in a letter – but this arrived on an old that looked suspiciously like your stupid, adorable little owl from school.’

If they hadn’t been in the middle of a crisis, Ron probably would have laughed out loud at the situation. He had forgotten the way every girl at Hogwarts had fawned over Pig – that had been an innocent mistake on his part. He was more astounded by the letter itself. Considering how Slytherins were supposed to be good at plotting, Draco’s writing skills were atrocious.

Ron folded the letter and passed it back to her.

‘Either he’s lying out of some stupid, dramatic, Draco-like reason, or it’s a very, very obscure plea for help,’ Pansy continued, giving Ron a sharp look. ‘The winds are strong…’ she said, looking at the letter again with narrowed eyes, as if waiting for it to spill its secrets. ‘It could be a very bad code for something.’

‘What are you implying?’ Ron said.

‘That you’ve been holding him hostage,’ she said.

‘What?’ Ron said. ‘WHAT?’

‘Well, you’d better have a damned good explanation, because if you don’t, we’ll have to contact the Aurors,’ Pansy said. She hadn’t so much as flinched at his yelling.

‘His best mate is an Auror,’ Blaise tried to remind Pansy in a low voice.

‘I would help you if I could,’ Ron said. He let out an annoyed huff. ‘But you’re too late. You just missed him.’

The last part came out sounding more hollow than he intended.

‘He was here?’

‘He’s been living with me for the past two weeks,’ Ron said.

It wasn’t the right moment to experience such emotions, but he took some kind of wicked enjoyment in the gobsmacked looks on their faces.

‘Is that Draco’s wand?’ Blaise said, narrowing his eyes at Ron.

‘Yeah,’ Ron said. The way he noticed Blaise tense up put him on the alert, and his grip on Draco’s wand tightened. ‘He dropped it before he left. I was just about to go look for him. He can’t have made it far without it.’

‘Draco without a wand. That’s a recipe for disaster,’ Blaise said.

‘He must be panicking,’ Pansy said, frowning.

Ron was almost ready to give in to the fact that his life was about to be invaded by yet more Slytherins. But just to make sure what he was about to do wasn’t complete lunacy, and out of some protectiveness towards Draco that had stirred in him, he had to ask, ‘You’re still his friends, right? You’re still going to be there for him?’

‘Obviously,’ Pansy said. Blaise nodded in agreement.

‘Even when he literally has barely a Galleon to his name?’ Ron asked.

‘Merlin, you Gryffindors have a grim view of the world,’ Pansy huffed. ‘We’re his friends! Of course we’re not going to let him die alone in misery, or whatever he thinks is going to happen.’

‘I told him he should have talked to you guys…’ Ron muttered, thinking it had been rather heartless of Draco to assume they wouldn’t be there for him. He would have to reprimand him later, once everything had calmed down.

He opened the door wider to let Blaise and Pansy in, and they followed him into the flat.

In the current situation, Ron was barely conscious of the state of the house, but when he turned around, he noticed their eyes wandering around the room curiously.

‘I swear, I’m not an alcoholic,’ he said, realizing what they were thinking.

He spotted the ridiculous carving on the table again – he didn’t remember if it had been his idea or Draco’s – and noticed Blaise’s eyes go to it as well. Luckily, Blaise didn’t say anything.

‘Do you have any idea where he could have gone?’ Ron said, deciding to divert their attention from the mess. ‘You’re his friends. Where would he go if he wanted to run away?’

‘Maybe he really took a Portkey to France,’ Pansy said. ‘It was his happy place.’

‘He couldn’t afford a Portkey,’ Ron said. ‘And he was here a few moments ago. It can’t be more than half an hour since he left.’

‘Draco is terrible at wandless Apparition. He would have to make it to the nearest Floo to get anywhere far,’ Blaise put in.

‘We should still check the Manor, just in case,’ Pansy said.

If Ron didn’t know better, it almost looked like she was enjoying the drama. Her eyes had taken the same sharp gleam from before that made him momentarily think she was living her best amateur sleuth fantasy. All that was missing was a fedora.

‘I can go check our old classmates, in case he’s gone to any of them,’ Blaise said. ‘In any case, I’ll fetch Greg. He’s always good at pulling Draco out of a crisis.’

After his initial reaction, Ron was beginning to like Blaise. He had an ability to take things under control, and had a grounded air about him. Or maybe it was just the contrast with Pansy – anyone was likeable and placid next to her.

‘Draco been through a lot of crises?’ Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘He’s _Draco_. He’s a walking crisis,’ said Blase, giving him a half-smile. He grabbed some Floo Powder from the jar on Ron’s fireplace and threw some in. ‘I’m off now.’

He disappeared into the flames and Ron was left alone with Pansy.

‘Come on Weasley. We can Floo to a pub in Bath. I know a place,’ Pansy said. ‘We can Apparate to the Manor from there.’

‘Who said I’m coming with you?’ Ron objected.

‘If Draco has felt good enough with you to actually stay in this tiny hellhole you call a home, you must have been doing something right,’ Pansy retorted. ‘Plus,’ she added with a knowing smirk, ‘your sad, ginger face looks like it’s almost going to start crying. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re worried about him too.’

Her remark about the crying was definitely off, but Ron supposed he hadn’t done much to mask his worry. He gave a vague grumble akin to agreement, and followed her into the Floo, gripping the two wands close to his chest.

*

The house stood bleak against the grey drizzle that seemed to be a constant bane in these parts of the country. The last time Ron had seen Malfoy Manor was during the war. He felt a shudder of horror go through him as he recalled being shut in the cold, suffocating cellars, while unmentionable terrors had gone down at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange.

He knew he didn’t have to face any of You-Know-Who’s innermost tonight, but the energy around the place was still uninviting.

Even Pansy seemed to think so. She had spent the trip moaning loudly about the injustice of it all – how the Manor was being robbed of its rightful heirlooms – but despite that, she stayed close to Ron as they made their way across the wide, gravel path.

There was no sign of anything amiss when they reached the front of the house, except for the unnatural stillness. In silent agreement, they started walking around in one direction, staying near to the house. They tried to get a peek inside whenever bushes and garden arrangements gave way to windows.

There was no sign of life anywhere within the house.

It felt like it had been empty for a long time. It was hard to believe Draco had still been living in it a little less than two weeks ago.

‘Oh, the ballroom,’ Pansy exclaimed. ‘How dismal it looks.’

They had come to a part of the house that consisted of large, curtainless windows. It was surrounded by a large, veranda, that Ron hopped onto from the side. Ron looked inside, seeing a glossy floor and marble pillars that look haunting in the empty, hall-like room.

‘It used to have the most gorgeous, white grand piano,’ Pansy said. ‘Now it’s probably rotting away in a Ministry storehouse, somewhere.’

She sounded bitter.

‘Yeah, I really have no need to hear about all your favorite Malfoy antiques,’ Ron said.

Ron had been trying out some of the spells he still remembered from his one year as an Auror trainee. He was hoping to find an entry point into the house that didn’t require having to blast a window to smithereens; he had no desire to alert the Aurors. He targeted another attempt at the veranda door and to his thrill, heard the ‘click’ he had been hoping for.

He slipped inside, too aware that what they were doing was technically breaking and entering. Pansy, who followed right behind him, was less bothered by this. She strutted in confidently, her heels clattered as they hit the marble floor.

The room seemed to go on for miles, but it was only an illusion brought about by mirrors and what Ron suspected to be a plethora of Extension Charms.

‘Homenum Revelio,’ Ron said, pointing his wand into the shadows. He waited for a moment, but the spell came back empty.

‘Draco?’

Pansy’s shrill voice echoed back at her.

‘He’s not here, the spell already told us so,’ Ron said, but he couldn’t judge her for trying. He had been holding onto hope of hearing Draco’s whiny voice respond as well.

‘I think it’s only just hit me that…’

‘That Draco’s no longer your ridiculously rich boy-toy who eats caviar for breakfast and probably has house-elves wipe his arse for him?’ Ron finished. ‘Yeah, he’s really going to have a lot of adjusting to do.’

‘And he’s going to need all the support from his friends that he can get,’ he added, hoping Pansy had at least some capacity to digest her role in his life.

He didn’t doubt her motives anymore, but he had his doubts about whether she really understood how much Draco’s life had changed.

‘What if we don’t find him and he has to spend the night out on the streets?’ Pansy said, sounding truly worried for the first time.

‘Draco’s clever. He’ll be fine,’ Ron said, but the nonchalant way he said it sounded a bit false even to his own ears.

It was already starting to get darker, and the wind was picking up. They weren’t any closer to finding Draco.

*

Three hours later, they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, nearly ready to give up their search.

It had been a long few hours of false alarms and misguided ideas. They had gone to every place Pansy could think of that could even remotely come across Draco’s mind, even checking Hogwarts – although it had been a stretch.

The fact that they still hadn’t found him only confirmed that they probably had a reason to be worried. The nagging worry that gnawed him was only growing.

But right now, Ron needed some food, and maybe a hot drink. It wasn’t doing either of them any good running all over Britain on little sustenance all day. They had been getting increasingly snappier at each other as the hours passed. 

By this point Ron was thoroughly sick of Pansy’s company. The longer their escapade had stretched on, the more unbearable she had become, complaining about every slight discomfort at least twice as often as Draco would have. To her credit, she was still set on finding Draco, but right now, Ron was going to order her a plate of chips, if only to shut her up for a few minutes.

He steered towards the bar as Pansy went to find a table for them.

‘Draco!’ Pansy cried.

Ron turned around. He spotted a head of striking blond hair in the most shadowy corner of the pub, and his heart gave a wild leap.

There he was, sitting smack in the middle of Wizarding London in the Leaky of all places.

Pansy rushed across the bar to him and smothered him in a hug.

‘I’ve been looking for you all day!’ she shrieked loud enough that a few heads turned in the pub.

Used to as they were to odd passersby, any mildly curious heads returned to business as soon as they had concluded nothing was out of the ordinary.

Ron stayed close to the bar. Something was holding him back. Whether it was a genuine wish to give Pansy and Draco some space to reunite, or a sudden bad feeling, he didn't know.

‘Have you come to collect the money I owe you?’ Ron heard Draco say. Ron recognized Draco’s moods well enough by this point to know he was considerably calmer than when the news had hit him. There was even a hint of dry humour to his voice.

‘No, you stupid bastard. I’ve been worried crazy about you,’ Pansy reprimanded. ‘Did you walk here all the way from Weasley’s?’

‘Not all the way,’ Draco said. ‘I found a Sickle on the ground. It was enough for a ride on the Knight Bus.’

‘ _The Knight Bus?_ ’ Pansy exclaimed. ‘You didn’t! That’s mad. It’s, like, the true beggar experience.’

Pansy spent the next moment demanding every detail about his bus ride, as if it was an exotic, voluntary adventure. Ron wasn’t particularly liking the way their conversation was going.

He knew Slytherins had odd coping mechanisms, but the complete mutual agreement Pansy and Draco seemed to have to stay in denial seemed to him disrespectful of the situation.

‘—and I even had some Knuts left for a beer,’ Draco finished, raising his glass, that only had a foamy drizzle left.

‘You’re ridiculous,’ Pansy said, clearly enjoying the show he was putting on.

‘I don't really even like beer, but this is what poor people do all the time. Weasley taught me,’ Draco said, laughing in a way that reminded Ron of his mean, cold laugh in school.

‘Weasley is here, too, by the way,’ Ron heard Pansy say. ‘I don't know what you see in him aside from his adorable, dorky Gryffindor face, but if I would say he has it for you bad. He was looking for you with me all day.’

Ron cursed Pansy for not having a filter in front of her loud mouth. She was constantly making absurd, _wrong_ theories and thinking it appropriate to share them with everyone. He held his breath waiting for Draco to respond.

Ron had hoped to hear at least an ounce of feeling at the mention of his name, but the next thing Draco said only left him with a cold feeling.

‘Any Gryffindor would do the same,’ Draco brushed her off. ‘What is he doing here anyway? I don’t want to see him.’

In an impulse, Ron stepped out from the shadows where he had been standing.

‘I would have thought you at least wanted your wand back,’ he said, unable to keep some of his hurt from leaking into his voice.

He dug the wand from his pocket and passed it to Draco, who took it, avoiding touching his hand.

Their eyes met for a moment, but Draco quickly turned away, choosing to focus on twirling his wand in his fingers instead.

For a short second, Ron had thought he had seen an ounce of something – panic, maybe even shame, but really, he was only searching for what he wanted to find.

‘Thank you for the accomodation,’ Draco said in a cold, distant voice. ‘I’ll pay you back at some point.’

Ron scoffed. ‘You must be glad that your time in my tiny, crummy house is over,’ he couldn’t help adding, even though the words sounded childish the moment they left his mouth.

*

It was past dinner time when Ron returned from one of the most tiring days of his adult life, but he wasn’t hungry. He slumped onto the sofa, pushing aside Draco’s nightshirt and some empty bottles.

Usually, when Ron needed cheering up, he liked to sample new beers from small breweries, but right now, he didn’t feel the desire to do even that. Sipping on experimental ales would only bring to mind Draco’s impertinent remarks on their varying levels of wateriness.

Ron didn’t know what to do with himself. A weird, unforeseen, unexpectedly fun, but short chapter in his life had come to an end, and in a way that had left him no time to adjust.

He didn’t know what he had hoped for, but he knew for sure that the events of the night had crushed any possible hopes he had even tentatively began to have about Draco.

It was only now that Ron realized how much he had enjoyed having Draco around. For someone with such terrible morals and who made insulting people a hobby, Draco had understood Ron’s humour better than most people. And the way he had a way of getting under Ron’s skin… Ron ached to think how it would have felt to release some of that tension between them.

Ron hadn't been lacking anything in his life. He had been content… if a little too settled in his routines when Draco stumbled into his life. But having someone to come home to, someone to share the ordinary things in life with, like cooking and cleaning, but also someone to talk with into the night over a (refreshingly even) chess match, was something he was going to miss.

He didn’t even want to think about how easily Draco had brushed him off the first moment it was convenient for him.

Ron didn’t know how long he sat on the sofa staring into nothingness.

He felt like he was awoken from a dream when a knock pierced his bubble of silence. It felt almost too surreal to bother reacting to, but reluctantly he got up and went to the door.

A part of him already knew who it would be before he turned the door handle.

‘Hey,’ Ron said to Draco. He didn’t know what else to say. He remained still at the door frame, feeling heavy and dazed at once.

Draco stood in front of his house. The look on his face was inscrutable. His silvery hair was like a second moon under the dim street light. The blue dusk surrounded him; a stark contrast to the red sunset that had brought him over the first time.

They stared at each other quietly, and Ron thought he could read a whole range of emotions in his eyes, each communicating volumes in the silence between them.

First and foremost: regret, a plea. _Please forgive me_. Then, a tentative, questioning apology, encouraged by whatever he saw on Ron’s face. There was a flash of hope and finally, Ron could see a determined spark light up Draco’s eyes.

In a single stride, Draco walked up to him and pulled him into a deep, long-awaited kiss.

All the tension from a long day of intense emotions seemed to wash away with one kiss. Ron’s body responded in an instant, heated excitement and an eagerness to taste and feel everything. Draco’s mouth felt divine, his tongue warm and skillful, tasting ever-so-slightly of beer. Ron ran his hands along Draco’s neck and dug them into his hair, pulling him closer.

Ron nearly fell back as Draco pushed into him hungrily. They shuffled through the hallway, never breaking contact with each other.

‘I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me anymore after everything I said,’ Draco let out.

The fight from that morning felt distant and insignificant, and Ron would have had to strain his memory to remember Draco’s exact words from the pub. Even then, he had known it had been a heat-of-the-moment thing, nothing to take at truth value. And now there was a more pressing heat between them that Ron wanted to address.

Ron pushed Draco against the wall – a photo on his wall went clattering down, but they barely noticed.

‘I want you,’ he said between kisses. ‘I’ve wanted you so badly.’

As a response, Draco pressed more closely against him, his bulging hard-on greeting Ron’s through the layers of clothing. Ron let out an involuntary hiss as he buckled his hips, desperate to get closer to him.

‘I didn’t want to do anything before—’ Draco kissed him at his collar bone, ‘I was financially on my own again.’ He licked him on the neck, and sucked the sensitive spot beneath his ear. ‘Would’ve felt wrong to take advantage of you when you’re already giving me a place to stay.’

‘You can take advantage of me anytime,’ Ron replied, his breathing heavy. ‘And besides, it would have been me taking advantage of you, not the other way around— oh, dear Merlin, yes…’ Draco had opened his trousers and has run his hand teasingly across his boxers. ‘Don’t stop.’

With a skillful movement, Draco freed him from his cotton constraint, and Ron felt his cock bounce out from his boxers.

A second later it was wrapped by Draco’s hand, who started moving it in slow, steady movements.

Yes. _Yes._

Ron leaned back against the wall – he wasn’t sure when their positions had turned around, but the way Draco’s other hand kept him pinned to the wall only increased his arousal.

Draco’s hand milked him in agonizing, incredible pleasure. The way he was looking at him, the way he clearly enjoyed watching every reaction of frustration on Ron’s face, was almost enough to make Ron go over the edge.

It was getting increasingly frustrating standing up against the wall when all he wanted was to pound himself against Draco like an animal.

‘Bed,’ Ron said, and Draco nodded in accordance. They rushed upstairs – Ron’s trousers were dangling from his feet and he kicked them off, leaving a heap of clothes behind him.

*

Faint moonlight spilled in from the windows, barely visible against the reflections against the window glass. Ron had lit candles as the night grew darker. It was tacky, perhaps, but they added atmosphere to the otherwise cluttered room where bed sheets and clothes lay in messy piles around them.

They lay in a blissful, post-orgasmic haze for a while, both lost in their respective musings. Ron drew circles on Draco’s back with his fingers. Every touch still felt new and foreign, in a good way.

Ron had been sensing a change of energy in Draco for the past few moments, and now he stiffened slightly, giving about a hesitant air.

‘I didn’t want to say anything earlier, because I was busy doing other things,’ he shot a sly glance at Ron.

‘Fucking, then talking,’ Ron interjected. ‘I like that.’

Draco snorted. ‘Yes, me too. But hear me out now.’

Ron waited for him to continue. He started his little caresses again, moving to Draco’s nape and occasionally running his fingers through his hair just to enjoy his fine, silky locks.

‘As Slytherin as it would be of me,’ Draco started. ‘I promise I’m not fucking you just so that you would extend your invitation and I could sneakily start living here.’

‘Like you’ve been doing so far?’ Ron said, grinning at him softly.

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘The reasons why I’m fucking you are a topic for a whole other discussion.’

His brows creased slightly again as he returned to his more serious topic.

‘I know I can’t keep living at your place forever, but where the hell can I go? What am I supposed to do? I don’t have money to pay for a flat. I have a job, but it’ll be weeks before I can afford anything, besides, I don’t even know where to start with getting a place to rent,’ Draco said, sounding glum.

‘You gave me two weeks to get my life together, but I’m still as much of a wreck as I was when I came here. I might know how to cook now – well, at least I know how to make toast and eggs – but there’s still so much I don’t know. I still don’t know what foods belong in the fridge. I have no idea how to de-wrinkle my clothes – the spell from your Mum’s book is useless – I should have suspected as much based on how frumpy she looks. And I still don’t understand how your recycling system works, so I’ve just been Vanishing it all for the past few days.’

Now that he had started, it seemed like he couldn’t stop. He spoke in fast, agitated sentences, barely stopping to catch his breath.

‘It’s almost over. I’ve tried to not think about it, but I can’t stop thinking about how after the two weeks, you’re just going to throw me out, and I have nothing figured out.’

‘Hush,’ Ron said. ‘Of course I’m not throwing you out. We’ll figure it out. Me and your friends are here to help you.’

He pulled Draco close again and kissed him, this time with more tenderness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Epilogue**

It was early evening at the verge of summer. The air felt hot and charged with some new, unusual energy. The sun was still high; its bright rays reflected off of the metallic plate reading ‘Weasley’, that was attached to the front of the door. Draco motioned to tap the knocker and took a step back, reminding him of that moment over a month ago when he had first stood on this doorstep.

The door opened.

‘Hey.’

Ron stood at the doorway, and a small smile played on his lips. He was wearing shorts and a faded Chudley Cannons T-shirt. Draco might have imagined it, but it looked like his beard had grown a bit since they had last seen each other.

‘Hey,’ Draco said back.

He stepped inside, and in one graceful movement dropped his travel bag to the floor and leaned in to kiss Ron. He felt arms wrap around his back and chuckled pleasantly as Ron deepened the kiss. They had done this plenty of times, but there was still a novelty to it that brought shivers down his spine.

‘I want to show you something,’ Ron said when they broke apart. ‘Come.’

He started striding upstairs, and Draco followed him, wondering what he was about to see. They stopped at the threshold to the bedroom, and Ron made room for him to enter first.

‘It’s… no longer orange.’

‘I know you hated it,’ Ron said.

‘Well, I might be a vain git, but even _I_ know my boyfriend shouldn’t have to change because of me,’ Draco said. He tried not to sound too bothered, but knew his mild worry was probably showing from his face. ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘As long as you still don’t have a place of your own, I thought I’d try to make at least part of my house more bearable for you. I know it’s not something you would pick out, but—’

‘It’s perfect,’ Draco breathed. Then, realizing he had revealed an over-emotional and sappy side of himself, he added in his usual drawl, ‘Well, it’s not _perfect_ , not really. But it’s nice, and I appreciate the thought.’

Ron looked at him in amusement, but Draco could read affection off his face.

‘Wanna check out what it feels like to fuck in not-orange covers?’ Ron said.

*

They lay in the bed together, leaning against the stack of pillows Draco had insisted Ron get after he had started spending more time in his bed. It was a place they spent a good majority of their spare time, so it was well worth maximizing the comfort, right?

The red sunset leaked in from between the simple, muted, grey-coloured shades. Caught in an odd moment of quiet reflection and satisfaction, Draco took in all of it: the domesticity and the ordinarity – things he had never had appreciation for before, but things he was starting to enjoy.

His heart felt light and somehow full at the same time, and for a moment, he felt almost giddy with happiness, enough to want to make him almost get up and do a little dance right there. Instead, he buried his face into Ron’s skin and took in the intoxicating scent that was post-sex Ron Weasley.

‘Now I feel like some kept… tart, who lives on your premises and pays rent in sexual favours,’ Draco murmured. He turned to Ron so that he could see from his expression that he was joking.

‘I don’t know if I’m more bothered by your remark itself or the fact that you seem to be okay with the idea,’ Ron said with a snort. ‘As long as you’re not doing what we’re doing with Blaise, Pansy or Harry, I suppose I don’t mind. C’mere, you sexy tart.’

Ron nudged him closer and Draco let himself be surrounded by his arms, bringing his own hand to rest on Ron’s bare stomach.

Maybe losing everything wasn’t so bad. Maybe losing something meant gaining something else. 

Of course, Draco would work his arse off to keep building his new fortune. He already had grand visions of where everything was going: he’d save up, invest wisely and eventually buy the Manor back. He wouldn’t stop there. Everyone would come to know the name Malfoy in a better light. He was set on proving to George and Lee that not only was he a marketing genius, but he could also bring them serious Galleons with his product ideas. On the side, he was working to rebuild some old connections in an intent to rekindle and legitimize some of the businesses his father had had.

But right now, things were pretty good just as they were. Because Draco had realized that if there was something money couldn’t buy, it was possibly cuddles, sex and late-night chess matches with a spectacular redhead.


End file.
